The Ringbearer and The Huntress
by Diem Kieu
Summary: Princess Merida seeks a chance to prove her quality so that she can rule her kingdom without a king at her side. However, meddling with the affairs of the war-torn outside world of Middle Earth proves to be costlier than anticipated - especially when the Ringbearer manages to ensnare her heart. Frodomance - Frodo X Merida. Updates monthly. Reviews are greatly appreciated!
1. Prologue

I am Merida, daughter of King Fergus and Queen Elinor.

I am the firstborn of Clan DunBroch.

The kingdom of Dunland was founded by four clans: MacIntosh, MacGuffin, Dingwall, and our own.

We are fighters, defenders of our own.

We do not meddle in the affairs of the outside world, nor does it meddle in ours.

To the rest of the world, we are only known as the wild men.

…

A year ago my mother tried to marry me off to one of the eldest sons of the lairds. However, during the tournament that was to determine my future husband, I shot for my own hand and sought to change my fate.

Well… I certainly got what I wished for. My fate _has_ changed since then… but not entirely for the better.

Even here, rumors of a shadow growing in the east and the resurfacing of an all powerful ring run rampant.

My father and the lairds are struggling to maintain control. Many of our people have been drawn away by the lure of Saruman the White, the Wizard of Isengard, forsaking their loyalty in favor of burning and raiding the villages of Rohan.

This much is clear: We cannot go on as we did before, ignoring the affairs of the world around us. I've mastered the art of changing my fate… Now I need to change the fate of the world.


	2. Chapter I: A Calling to Rivendell

"Milord Fergus!"

The doors thundered open as the messenger entered the room.

The servants were clearing the table as the king sat poring over old maps that he would've normally shoved into an old bookshelf and forgotten about. King Fergus peered up from the old, tattered pieces of parchment and rose from his seat as soon as he heard the messenger.

"What is it?"

"I've just heard news from Rivendell!"

Fergus glanced twice at one of the maps.

"Rivendell? What business do we have with the elves when we've got a bunch of rabble rousers to deal with here?!"

"Lord Elrond - there's rumors that he's holding a council there."

"And…?"

"We're not the only ones who are threatened, Sire. People from all over Middle Earth are attending."

Fergus raised an eyebrow.

"That council could help us know what's going on around here - especially about Saruman," the messenger continued.

"What does this Elrond know about Saruman?"

"I'd reckon a good amount, Sir. One of the other wizards is there too."

"Who is this other wizard?"

"They call him Mithrandir, milord."

"Very well," Fergus replied. "Tell the stable boys to ready my horse. I'm riding to Rivendell tomorrow."

"And ready mine as well!"

Fergus instantly recognized his daughter's voice.

"I'm going with you, father."

Her mother Elinor followed closely behind.

"Not so fast, Merida! It's too dangerous out there!"

Merida turned to her mother.

"Mum, if I'm to be the queen you want me to be, I'd better know what's going on."

"Aye, she's got a point there," Fergus commented.

"And I'm certainly not planning on marrying into the MacIntosh, MacGuffin, or Dingwall clan anytime soon!" Merida chimed.

Fergus chuckled.

"We all know what happened when we tried to do that!"

Elinor cleared her throat.

"Yes, I remember perfectly well."

"I'll marry in my own time if I must," Merida added. "But I can't just rely on books and etiquette lessons and expect to be able to manage Dunland."

A satisfied smile appeared on Fergus' face.

"All right, I think we've got this settled."

Merida was grinning ear to ear as she ran out of the room.

"Yes!"

Elinor's gaze shifted to her husband.

"Fergus, are you sure this is a good idea?"

"Don't worry. Nothing's going to happen to her on my watch."

…..

Merida looked on at the dawn the next morning as she brushed the hair of her horse Angus. Its lavenders, blushes, oranges and blues brought her a bit of peace. Somehow, she knew that this would be the last sunrise she'd see from her homeland for a long time.

She went and fetched the saddle from the corner of the stable.

"Are you ready, Angus?"

The horse neighed affirmatively.

"This is it, Angus. Now's my chance to prove that I can be queen and rule Dunland on my own! If I can handle this, I can handle anything."

With that, she opened the stable door, mounted Angus, and rode out to the courtyard.

Her parents and her three little brothers were out there, along with some of the family's closest servants. Hamis, of of the little triplets, sniffled as he looked up at her with sad puppy eyes.

Merida got off her horse and crouched to meet his eye level.

"Don't cry, Hamis. I'll be back."

She glanced at the other two, Hubert and Harris.

"Be good for me, my wee devils."

She kissed all three of them on the forehead before remounting Angus and joining her father, who was also astride his horse.

Elinor ran up to them both, grabbing Angus' reins.

"Merida -"

Merida looked down at her mother, eyes widening inquisitively.

Elinor hesitated before speaking, sighing before she finally spoke.

"Be safe."

She walked over to her husband.

"You too, Fergus."

"Don't worry, lass. We'll be fine. When we get back, we'll take care of those rabble-rousers and celebrate until -"

Elinor kissed him before he could finish his sentence.

A big smile was on Fergus' face once the kiss was broken.

"Now there's something to look forward to."

Merida chuckled at the sight. She then looked one last time at her mother.

"Don't worry, Mum. We'll be all right."

They both rode out the gates of their kingdom and into the unknown.


	3. Chapter II: Peril

Fergus drew out an old map from the satchel tethered to the saddle of his horse. It'd been a few days since he and his daughter Merida left their home in Dunland. They were now surrounded by mountains and rocky ruins. Merida sat under the shade of one of the few trees that were there, carving another design into her favorite bow as her father stared at the map before him.

"If this old piece of parchment is correct, then we should be standing right in front of the Mines of Moria."

"And that means that we should be heading north to Rivendell?"

"That sound right. Wait - how did you know that?"

"Well, all of those geography lessons my mother made me slog through have to count for something!"

Merida looked at the doors to the mines. They'd been ripped out of their place, the entrance now barricaded by boulders.

"What happened here?"

"Nothing good," answered Fergus. "We shouldn't disturb the water there, either. There's a foul beast lurking under those murky depths that I don't fancy waking up. They call it the Watcher in the Water."

He turned towards his daughter.

"Get your things ready, Merida. We'd better leave."

She immediately complied, putting away her knife and reloading Angus. Fergus did the same. Both were ready to ride out when Merida heard something in the distance.

Something sinister. Something that sent chills down her spine. Something that she could have sworn made her bright red hair stand on her head.

It was the sound of footsteps mingled with the distinctive grunts of the most despised creatures in Middle Earth.

They both scanned their surroundings. A scowl soon appeared on Fergus' face.

"DAMN IT! It's an orc ambush! Run, Merida! RUN!"

"YA!"

Merida tugged on Angus' reins. It was only seconds later that she and Fergus were both riding at breakneck speed as a group of orcs pursued them.

Merida quickly drew out her bow and arrows and fired one at an orc to her left. Despite the urgency of the situation she was in, she couldn't help sneaking a brief triumphant smile as she saw him fall off his warg and roll to the ground like a mad tumbleweed. She drew out another arrow and aimed for the frothy mouthed warg, dispatching it in an instant.

Suddenly, the sharp neighing of horses pierced the air as Angus unexpectedly reared. Merida looked around and saw that her father's horse had been shot down by an Orcish arrow.

Fergus was back on his feet in less than a minute, quickly dispatching a group of orc attackers one by one. He deftly snapped the neck of the first. He took a second and broke it in two over his bent knee like a dry twig. He grabbed his sword, ran through a third, and beheaded a fourth. Suddenly, a fifth appeared astride a large warg. The warg lunged at him, sinking its fangs into his forearm. Merida gasped and glared at the beast before reaching into her quiver again. It crumpled to the ground as her arrow hit it right between the eyes.

Her father was able to tear the dead warg's jaws off his arm before rising to his feet and throwing its Orc rider into the hellish pond before the broken doors of Moria.

He then ran to Merida and leapt on top of Angus. Merida shouted another "YA!"

The next thing they knew, they were once again riding at breakneck speed as the Watcher in the Water raised its tentacles and devoured the remaining beasts.

….

"Argh!"

Fergus clutched his arm as Merida tugged on Angus' reins, making the horse come to a halt.

"What are you stopping for? Keep going!"

"Da, you're hurt!"

"I've dealt with worse wounds, lass. The faster you go, the sooner we'll get to Rivendell."

"How much further is it?"

"About forty miles north."

Merida got off Angus and fetched her cloak.

"Forty miles? Da, no one can make it forty miles bleeding like that!"

She took out her knife and began shredding it into strips before grabbing a water canteen.

"This might hurt."

"Just do it. We need to get going as soon as possible."

He winced as she poured water on the wound. She used the remnants of her cloak to clean it, and then wrapped his arm in the makeshift bandages.

A strange horn blared in the distance before she could tie the last knot. Her eyes widened as her senses suddenly heightened. In the distance, she could see what looked like a group of men on horseback riding in their direction. Merida hastily tied the last knot on the bandages, mounted Angus, and seized the reins. However, they began to gain on her as soon as she took off. The horn blew again, this time even louder. After several minutes of pursuit, the men had them both surrounded.

Now that Merida was able to see them more closely, she noticed that their armor was far more elegant than what she'd typically see on someone from the clans of Dunland. Her eyebrows knitted as she noted the long straight hair that hung down their backs from beneath their helmets. Finally, she saw their pointed ears - and knew that these were not human men.

Suddenly, they halted. One of the elves got off his horse and approached them.

"What business does a man from Dunland have near the mines of Moria?"

"We're headed for Rivendell," Merida responded. "My father and I heard that Lord Elrond was holding a council there."

"A council?"

"Aye."

"Tell me - Why should we trust someone from Dunland while your people raid the villages of Rohan and the enemy's spies have made your land their bastion?"

"We're going to Rivendell to find out what's going on out there," Fergus responded, still clutching his arm. "So we can take down those rabble-rousers and drive their bastard leaders from our lands!"

"And…" he continued, "I'm their King."

The elf paused, scanning the two of them intently. He soon noticed a trace of blood on the large hand that grasped the king's arm.

"Your wound - how did you get it?"

"We were ambushed by Orcs," Merida answered. "Please - can you help us?"

"Your father won't last long unaided. Come with us."


	4. Chapter III: The City of Fate

"I have to go to Mordor alone, Sam."

"But I made a promise, Mister Frodo! 'Don't you leave him, Samwise Gamgee.' And I'm gonna make good on that promise!"

"I know. But Sam, I can't put anyone else in peril - especially you."

"I'm not gonna leave you, Mister Frodo!"

"I know you wouldn't, Sam. But I can't let you go with me - not this time."

Tears filled Sam's eyes. Frodo put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Sam - it'll be all right."

A sad smile crossed Frodo's lips as he made eye contact with his dear friend.

"Look after the others for me - especially Merry and Pippin."

The tears came rolling as Sam hugged him.

"I will, Mister Frodo!"

Frodo returned his embrace.

"Oh, Sam... I'm so blessed to have a friend like you."

They released each other, with Sam placing his hands on Frodo's shoulders.

"Can you promise me something, Mister Frodo?"

"Yes?"

"That you'll survive and come back home alive and well?"

"I hope so. I can promise that I'll do everything in my power to keep it."

"Oh, Frodo... Thank you...!"

Frodo planted a reverent kiss on his brow before getting on the boat that rested on the banks of the river and rowing off to the other side.

"Goodbye, Sam."

Samwise Gamgee stood at the edge as he watched his truest friend sail away and venture off on the quest to Mordor.

...

By the next morning, the elves were leading Merida and her father on a narrow path along a rugged stone wall. They had gotten the two of them to Rivendell faster than either of them could have hoped for.

Waterfalls spilled over the mountains that surrounded the city. The entire place was bathed in the golden light of the late afternoon sun. The mountains were covered with lush green trees as far as the eye could see. Ahead of them was what looked like a great elven castle, complete with fine open woodwork and graceful courtyards. Merida stared in awe at her surroundings.

Soon enough, they reached the entrance. A mature elvish lord with long straight brown hair dressed in fine robes walked down the stairs to greet them.

"Mae govannen. What news do you have?"

"Strangers, my lord," one of the soldiers replied. "These two wish to attend the council."

"I'm sorry to say that the council has already passed. The Fellowship is now headed for Mordor."

Fergus got off Angus. He winced and grasped his arm as his feet touched the ground.

The elf lord's glance immediately shifted to him.

"How were you injured?"

"We were ambushed by orcs."

The elf lord immediately called for an escort.

"Lindir,"

"Yes, my lord?

"Take this man to the healers. His wounds need to be tended to before we discuss anything further."

Lindir nodded, and then escorted Fergus away.

The elf lord's eyes immediately shifted to Merida.

"And you - Are you this man's daughter?"

Merida dismounted Angus and looked him straight in the eye, head held high and her shoulders drawn back.

"Yes. I am Merida, daughter of Fergus, lord of Clan DunBroch and King of Dunland."

"Dunland?"

The elf's face suddenly became more serious, his mouth turning into a hard, grim line.

"Tell me - have the men of your country been loyal to your king?"

Merida let out a heavy sigh.

"Sadly, not. Saruman of Isengard has persuaded many of them to turn against both my father and the people of Rohan."

"I see. So you have come here for advice?"

"Aye, you could say that."

"And you wish to know what's happening outside your walls so that you'll know what to do within them?"

"Yes."

"Then it's settled. You and your father will both stay the night, and we shall discuss these matters in the morning."

The elf turned to leave, then took one last glance at Merida.

"I am Elrond, son of Eärendil. Welcome to Rivendell."

...

Merida couldn't get enough of the place. After dinner, she'd decided to spend the evening exploring Rivendell as her father was attended to by the elven healers.

Every flower and leaf seemed to be illuminated by the last light of the sun. The great trees cast dark, dramatic shadows on the ground. The courtyards and buildings were riddled with intricately carved designs and somehow seemed to fit right in with the natural landscape.

She wandered onto a bridge and continued to drink in her surroundings as she crossed it. She wandered on into an open building. A mural in a stone frame was on the wall before her, depicting a Gondorian man raising a broken sword against a great, dark, armored behemoth with a fiery golden ring gleaming on his massive finger.

Directly across from that mural was a seated, serene looking statue. The figure was holding a great slab in his lap, his stony face eternally pensive as he gazed at what lay there: the shards of what Merida could have sworn was the very sword in the mural.

Only when she glanced away from the statue did she see the woman dressed in an elegant silvery gown sitting on a nearby chair, clutching a finely embroidered tunic to her bosom. Her long, flowing dark hair contrasted sharply with her pale skin. Her blue eyes shifted in Merida's direction as the latter carefully approached her.

"Hello?"

The woman laid the tunic onto her lap.

" _Mae govannen._ "

She brushed her long tresses behind her shoulder, revealing a pointed ear. She briefly scanned the length of the redhead before her.

"Where are you from?"

"Um, Dunland... My lady?"

The elf smiled briefly, amused at the manner of her reply. However, it vanished as quickly as it came, her brows knitting pensively.

"Dunland?"

"Aye. My father is King Fergus."

"I see. What is your name?"

"Merida. And you are...?"

"Arwen. What brings you here to Rivendell?"

"We were originally here for a council, but apparently it's already passed."

"The one my father held?"

Merida raised an eyebrow.

"... I guess. Were you there?"

"Yes and no."

"Could you possibly fill me in?"

"All right. There were visitors from all over Middle Earth: men, elves, wizards, dwarves - even a halfling."

"And...?"

"They were discussing how to deal with the evil that's causing this war," Arwen cryptically replied.

"What evil?"

"I cannot say."

"Why not?"

"For the sake of ones who've set out to destroy it."

 _Well, that's quite helpful._

The elf grasped the tunic in her lap. Merida shifted her gaze to it and changed the subject.

"What is that?"

Arwen quickly glanced at the tunic.

"This?"

Merida nodded.

"This was Aragorn's. He wore it when he attended the council."

"Who's this Aragorn you speak of?"

"He is the son of Arathorn and one of the Dunedain."

Arwen's gaze dropped back to the garment before her as she smoothed it tenderly across her lap.

"I'm assuming you know him?" Merida inquired.

A rueful smile appeared on Arwen's face.

"Yes, I do."

Her gaze shifted to the mural on the wall.

"See that man in the painting? The one with the broken sword?"

Merida nodded.

"His name is Isildur," Arwen continued. "And Aragorn is his heir."

Merida's eyes wandered back to the statue and the shards it held.

Suddenly she noticed the striking resemblance they had to the sword in the painting. She took the handle and held it up to the painting. Her eyes widened as she turned back to Arwen.

"Is this...?"

"Yes. That is Narsil."

Merida lowered the handle as her gaze trailed up to the monstrous, armored humanoid that loomed over Isildur.

"Who - What is that?"

"Sauron."

Suddenly, Merida noticed the fiery golden band on Sauron's finger.

Merida looked at Arwen again.

"Is this it?"

"Is this what?"

"The evil that the council was trying to destroy?"

"Yes."


	5. Chapter IV: The Journey of the Huntress

Merida's eyes widened with shock as she continued to stare at the painting. She only realized that she was walking backwards when she hit the statue behind her and sent the sword fragment in her hand clattering to the ground.  
Startled, she scrambled to pick it up and put it back in its place along with the other shards.

It was only then that she noticed the light of a few lanterns below from the corner of her eye. She turned around and headed towards the balcony railing and looked on with Arwen at the scene below them.

A handful of elven attendants were carrying lanterns to light the way for their mistress, who followed closely behind and was dressed completely in white. Her iridescent cloak trailed behind her as she walked. Her golden tresses spilled out of her hood and easily reached her waist as a silver diadem rested upon her head. Her gown was made from the most intricate lace Merida had ever seen. She could have sworn she could see tiny pearls and crystals that glistened like dew drops sewn into the fine fabric.

Merida turned to Arwen.

"Who is she?"

"The Lady Galadriel. She came here from Lothlorien."

"Why is she here?"

"Most likely to speak with my father."

"About what?"

"The war."

This time, Merida knew exactly what she meant.

...

The first thing Merida did when she awoke the next morning was to run in and check on her father. She hadn't seen him since dinner the night before. For a few brief moments, she forgot about Arwen and Galadriel and what had transpired late that night.

The morning rays spilled through the windows and open architecture as she made her way to the quarters that the healers had placed her father in.

She knocked on the door softly. When no one answered, she pushed it open only to find her father sitting outside in the neighboring balcony, his face buried in some elvish book and his brows furrowed in confusion. Despite his distraction, Merida's face lit up.

"Da!"

Fergus immediately looked up and grinned ear to ear.

"Merida! It's so good to see you, lass!"

"You know you saw me last night."

"Aye, I know. Agh - I've got to count our stars for these healers; they said that I should be good as new in no time!"

Fergus looked again at the book in his hand and cracked it open as he comically held it sideways.

"Although this book's been a head-splitter! It might as well be written in Entish!" he continued.

"What's it about?"

"I have no idea."

They both bursted into laughter before Elrond entered the room.

"I'm glad to see that you're on the mend, King Fergus. You seem to be quite resilient."

"Well, as I was saying to my daughter, I've got your healers to thank for that!"

Elrond smiled briefly before continuing on.

"I'd like for you both to meet me in the council room as soon as possible in order to discuss some important issues - including the information that you came here for."

"Consider it done," Fergus replied.

The events from the night before suddenly flooded Merida's mind as Elrond left the room. Suddenly, an image of the monstrous armored figure in the painting with his fiery golden ring on his finger flashed before her.

"Are you all right, lass?"

"I'm fine."

...

The council room that Elrond had referred to looked more like the love child of a garden courtyard and a royal table reserved for a king and his knights.

A canopy of trees and elven statues surrounded the place. Merida found it to be the most beautiful council room that she had ever seen. Arwen was already there, quietly sitting in one of the chairs reading a book. Judging from what she had seen of her so far, she decided that her mother would have admired her at first dark blue gown spilled from the carved wooden chair she sat in. The gold belt cinched about her waist and the golden trim on her sleeves glinted in the late morning sunlight. A simple matching diadem was woven into her flowing tresses.

Merida slipped into the chair next to her and waited for the council to begin. Unsure of what to do, she turned to Arwen.

"Are you here for the council too?"

Arwen looked up from her book.

"Yes."

"Do you know when the others will get here?"

"Look up."

When she did, Merida noticed Elrond and Galadriel walking through the hallway to join them. Her father Fergus followed closely behind, along with a male elf that she didn't recognize. His long straight blonde hair hung well past his shoulders, and his garb was similar to Galadriel's. Merida leaned in towards Arwen again.

"Who is he?" she asked in a whisper.

"Which one?"

"The blond elf next to my da?"

"That is Celeborn, husband of Galadriel."

"Thank you."

"It's nothing."

The small procession made their way down to the council room and took their seats, with Elrond in a golden throne positioned directly in front of the small table at its center.

Naturally, Fergus sat next to his daughter, with Arwen at Merida's other side. Galadriel took one across from the three of them, her movements as silent as a ghost's. Elrond waited for the rustling to stop, his face hard as stone. As soon as it stopped, Elrond rose, his eyes scanning everyone as he spoke.

"Welcome. As you all know, this is the very place where the Fellowship of the Ring was conceived. They are now well on their way to leading the One Ring into the Fires of Mount Doom."

"I have called you here today for several reasons," the elf lord continued, his gaze shifting to Fergus and Merida. "The first concerns some unlikely new allies. Ladies and gentlemen, I introduce to you King Fergus and Princess Merida of Dunland." He gestured towards the two of them, and both automatically rose from their seats. Merida's eyes wandered nervously.

Galadriel sat as still as a statue, her eyes meeting Merida's. Suddenly the latter heard a voice in her head.

 _Mae govannen, Merida of Dunland._

 _Hello?_ Merida silently responded. _Are you Galadriel?_

 _Yes._

A moment of silence ensued. Galadriel's eyes peered intently into hers.

 _You seek to a chance to prove your quality...so that one day you can rule your kingdom in the manner of a king?_

 _... Yes._

 _Your chance will come soon. Very, very soon..._

Merida was swiftly brought back to reality by the sound of her father's voice.

"Merida-"

She jumped at the sound of her name.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes. I'm fine."

Merida's attention immediately shifted back to Elrond as they returned to their seats.

"King Fergus," began Elrond. "You told me previously that your land is wrought by civil war?"

"Yes. My daughter and I came to Rivendell for some advice on how to keep the rebels under control, as well as to learn about the current state of affairs."

"We all shall discuss the current state of affairs in just a few moments. How are your relations with Rohan?"

"They're fine with us. With the rebels - not good. In fact, they're not good at all."

"And I've heard that these rebels have come into contact with Saruman?"

"Yes. He has persuaded them to turn against us in favor of getting even with Rohan."

"I see. Did you know that Saruman is in league with Sauron?"

Fergus' eyes widened. For a moment, the words refused to come out of his mouth.

"No, my lord."

"Alas, it is true. It seems as though Saruman betrayed us long before we were informed of it in hopes of claiming the Ring for himself. Judging from what you've told me previously, it appears as though your people have taken the same course."

"As for dealing with the rebels," Elrond continued, "I would deem it very wise to seek an alliance with Rohan in order to end the violence and contain the rebels. The Rohirrim are among the greatest warriors the race of men has to offer."

"Thank you," Fergus replied. "I'll see to it that it is done."

Elrond nodded and gave a small, brief smile to Fergus and Merida before turning back to the rest of the council.

"Now, we must turn our attention to the mission that has befallen the Fellowship. As of now, the Ringbearer has set off for Mordor alone to cast the Ring into the fires of Mount Doom. He bears an extraordinary resilience to its evil - but alas, even so, what I have foreseen tells me that there is little chance of him succeeding before the quest claims his life. As of now, I have been informed that the members of the Fellowship have gone their separate ways in order to fulfill their duty to Middle Earth. One of the nine companions, Boromir of Gondor, has fallen in battle. Under these circumstances, I believe it necessary to send someone in his place. This person must accompany the Ringbearer and ensure that the Ring is destroyed at all costs."

Elrond paused, scanning the audience.

His gaze suddenly darted to his daughter Arwen.

 _No, not you._

"My duties lie with my people, Lord Elrond," stated Fergus.

"I understand. Are there any great warriors or men you know of that can fulfill this task?"

"I'm afraid not. I would recommend one of the sons of the clans that I rule, but I do not think that they could handle the nature of this mission."

Merida suddenly felt Galadriel's eyes on her again. Suddenly her heart leapt from her chest.

 _I only have one shot - now's my chance!_

She took a deep breath and slowly rose from her seat.

She made direct eye contact with Elrond.

"I'll do it."

Her tone was set as though she were addressing the court back in Dunland under her mother's watchful eye. For a moment, she could have sworn she saw a twinge of shock color Elrond's uncannily calm countenance.

"You are accepting a grave responsibility, Merida. Should you carry this out, the entire fate of Middle Earth shall be in your hands."

"I understand."

Fergus stared in awe as he watched what was happening before him. He'd promised Elinor that he wouldn't let anything happen to her. The first thing that came to his mind was to stop her in her tracks. And yet - who else was there?

"Eru help us all...!" he muttered under his breath.


	6. Chapter V: Finding the Ringbearer

Merida stood at the gateway that led away from Rivendell. She looked up at the early morning sky as she waited to say her final farewells.

 _The sunrise here is even more beautiful than it was back at home._

 _Home,_ she repeated in her mind. _I don't think I'll be seeing that place for a while._

Suddenly, she could hear footsteps from behind. Startled, she turned around. She breathed a sigh of relief when she found out that it was her father. His face was solemn, and he was carrying a big black fur in his arms.

"Here," he said, his voice quieter than usual. "This is the pelt of Mor'du. It should protect you when times get hard."

Merida promptly wrapped the fur cloak about her shoulders.

"Thank you, da. I promise I'll be safe."

Elrond, Arwen, Galadriel and Celeborn came in behind them, with a few elven escorts to bid Merida farewell. All of them were dressed in the fine silks and robes that Merida had come to associate with their kind - Elrond in grey, blue, and silver, with Galadriel and Celeborn their distinctive white. A single mother of pearl flower edged with rose gold adorned Arwen's dark tresses. The peach and golden shades of her gown were reminiscent of the sunrises and sunsets of the very city they were in.

Elrond stepped forward.

"Merida of Dunland, Daughter of King Fergus," he began. "You are about to embark upon journey that shall change the fate of Middle Earth. Your task is to find the Ringbearer and ensure that he casts the ring back into the fiery chasm from whence it came. This quest is to be kept in secret. Know that should this go ill, no oath or promise should force you to go where you will not."

"And I shall gladly accept this quest," Merida responded. Her tone and manner was as though she were trying to impress her mother with the most queenly decorum she could muster.

"May your heart and the hearts of all involved in this fellowship stay true when darkness falls. You go with the blessing of men, elves, and all free folk. Farewell."

Angus' reins were now in Fergus' hand. Merida walked up to him and stroked his nose.

"Be a good lad for me, Angus."

The horse neighed his own farewell in response. Merida hugged his neck, and then turned to her father.

"You'd better stay safe and alive for me, lass," he said without a hint of sternness in his voice.

Merida looked up at him and gave him a small smile.

"What are you going to tell mum?"

"The truth."

The next thing they new, the two of them were locked in a bear hug. When they finally let go of each other, Merida took a few steps toward the gate and took one last look back.

"Goodbye, da."

The entire farewell party watched in silence as she passed through and slowly vanished into the trees. Arwen quietly reminisced of the moment she had watched Aragorn walk through those very gates as one of nine companions and prayed for the huntress whose journey had just begun.

 _May Iluvatar and the grace of the Valar guide her swiftly to Frodo, wherever he may be._

...

Over the next few weeks, Merida roamed over the lands of Middle Earth searching for the Ringbearer, climbing mountains, over hills, and crossing rivers and forests. A roil of different emotions boiled inside her. She was at once triumphant and frightened beyond words. If she was successful, she would have surely won her right to be queen of Dunland - and the title of a great war hero.

But success, she knew, was far from certain. This much, however, was clear: the consequences would be dire indeed if either she or the Ringbearer she sought were to fail.

 _I can't stop now. I can't turn back. I can only go onward._

...

Merida's throat was suddenly parched. She quickly grabbed the water canteen at her hip and pulled out the cork, pressing its mouth to her lips. Yet only a small drop fell onto her tongue, doing nothing to quench her thirst. She quickly withdrew it and, frustrated, shoved the cork back into its opening.

 _Damn it! I'm out of water already?!_

She let out a heavy sigh.

The afternoon sun was high and was ruthlessly beating down on her back and shoulders. This only meant one thing: she needed to make a stop at the nearest river as soon as possible. Fortunately, she was surrounded by trees, which meant that water wasn't far. She also had a habit of wandering the wilderness of Dunland whenever she needed a break from being the lady her mother insisted that she should be.

She stopped walking and listened for even the faintest sound of water. A subtle breeze passed through the surrounding trees, rustling the foliage. For a while, she heard nothing like what she was hoping for. She took a few steps in one direction, then another. Not much time had passed, but it seemed like hours.

Finally, she heard what sounded like a bubbling brook. A quiet but excited gasp escaped from her lips. Grasping her bow and quiver of arrows, she followed the sound.

 _Maybe there's some fish swimming in there! I might as well find a bit of food while I'm at it._

She was so glad to finally find a food and water source that she was practically running. The sound of flowing water became more prominent with each step she took until she could finally see a glimpse of the river from the branches of the trees. She slowed down to scan her surroundings.

It was then that she noticed something that caught her completely off guard. At first, it was difficult to pick it out from the rest of her surroundings. She thought what she saw was a boulder, and yet there was something off about it. She looked down and figured that it was what looked like the corner of some piece of cloth sticking out from its base. She touched it and suddenly realized that the boulder was in fact, not a boulder at all, but a bundled cloak with an emerald green brooch shaped like a leaf at its closure. She quietly gasped as it fell to the side, revealing a pile of clothes. The brown jacket, vest, and trousers practically blended in with the ground that they were crumpled up on. Letting curiosity get the best of her, she pushed the garments to the side, revealing two shirts. One was a travel stained off-white number, which covered the other. As she picked up the second shirt, she clasped her mouth and muffled another gasp. Its chain mail rings shone a bright silvery hue. Thick golden trim graced the neckline and was adorned with pearls and white gems.

 _No... This can't be... mithril?_

She'd heard of the legendary metal before. She'd heard of many a king who would kill for the smallest scrap of the dwarvish treasure - let alone a shirt made from mithril rings! She could even picture her own father vying intensely for such a treasure. She grasped it in her hands for a while longer, debating on what she should do before she shook her head and dropped it.

 _Snap out of it and stop staring at that thing! You're a princess for Eru's sake - not a street rat! Get back to finding some water before you shrivel up!_

Immediately, she buried the mithril shirt with the other garments and wrapped the cloak around it. She smiled briefly in admiration of her work before heading off to the river.

 _There. No one will even notice that I was here._

The sound of water was quite prominent now. Merida quietly took a step closer to the foliage before her and pushed back the branches as carefully as she could. Her jaw dropped at what she saw next. The river was there as clearly as daylight - with a bather in it. Fortunately, his back was turned to her. Unfortunately, however, she now had to think about how she could slip past him unnoticed while simultaneously fighting the urge to look a little longer than anyone should at a complete stranger. The back that was turned to her was marble white, with subtle muscles that were as gently formed as stones shaped by eons of watery currents. A head full of dark brown hair that hung in thick, damp ringlets sat upon a set of shapely bare shoulders.

Flustered, she released the branches and hid behind the thickest tree trunk she could find. She looked through a gap in the foliage to see if he had noticed the sound of the resulting rustle of leaves. She could see that it had obviously startled him. He immediately looked over his shoulder and scanned his surroundings. Even from the distance that she stood at, she could see that those eyes were blue like her own, yet were even more so than either hers or the pristine water he waded in. She could now see how his curls fell about his chiseled face, as well as a glimpse of long dark lashes and full, elegant lips. His neck, though gracefully proportioned, seemed to be as thick and sturdy as a tree trunk. The front of his torso was much like the alluring back she'd taken a glimpse of a few minutes ago.

She could see his chest rise and fall as they both took a deep breath in unison. She finally mustered the strength to look away, shifting her gaze upwards as a noticeable flush came to her cheeks. An idea popped into her head as she viewed the branches above her. She quickly glimpsed through the gap in the foliage to see if the bather was still on guard. Fortunately, he seemed to have resumed going about his business. She turned to the tree behind her, placed her foot on one of the knobs in the trunk, and grabbed the lowest branch she could find. She climbed the tree with relative ease, and soon she was at the very top.

 _Good. Now I just need to stay hidden until he's done. Then I can slip quietly past him, get my water, and get out of here!_

She tried to position herself so that she would be comfortably out of his sight, and managed to do so - at least for a few moments. Suddenly, she heard a branch crack under her weight. She gasped and turned around. The branch cracked even more. It was too late. Seconds later, the branch snapped off completely and sent her tumbling into the waters below.

...

Frodo knew there was something watching him. He could feel its eyes on his naked back as he silently cursed himself for leaving Sting with his clothes. The rustle of leaves behind him only heightened his senses as he turned around and scanned his surroundings, only to find... nothing. He took a deep breath. He knew he had been completely alone when he decided to bathe here. He figured it would be one of the very few times on his journey to Mordor that he would be able to enjoy such a privilege. He took a bit of water from the running currents at his waist and splashed it on his face. The only thing he was wearing at this moment was the ring around his neck. At least he could slip it on his finger and turn invisible if an enemy or a predator decided to invade his privacy.

Frodo suddenly heard the loud snap of a branch and a shriek behind him. He whirled around as the droplets from the resulting splash landed on his bare and already wet skin. One of the branches from a nearby tree had fallen into the river. A moment later, he realized that someone had apparently climbed that tree and had tumbled into the waters below. He immediately went on his guard as he came closer to investigate.

His eyes widened in surprise. The potential pair of prying eyes did not belong to the gangly creature Gollum who lusted for what hung around his neck, as he had suspected. Nor did they belong to any orc or goblin - but a girl. Even as it hung miserably like seaweed from her head in its soaking wet condition, her hair was the most brilliant shade of red he'd ever seen. He noticed her struggling with the currents and tugging on her skirts. In the blink of an eye, he completely disregarded the circumstances and came to lift her out of the water. As he came closer, he noticed that the hem of her skirt had snagged on to one of the smaller branches. He stepped even closer and reached for the source of the snag. Frodo suddenly saw her backing away with a frightened look on her face.

"Don't worry. I'm not going to hurt you."

He paused, watching her reaction.

"I just want to get you out of those branches, all right?"

She nodded. Her face was now as red as her hair. Frodo finally came forth and began to undo the tangle of fabric and branches. Merida looked on as he worked and knitted his shapely brows in concentration, his bright blue eyes fixed on the problem that he was trying to solve. For a few moments, despite the humiliation she was feeling, she completely forgot about his nudity. Before she knew it, she was able to tug her skirt out of the branches, rendering her free to move once more. Unfortunately, the force of her pull sent her falling backwards into the man who had just set her free. Frodo caught her and wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

"Whoa - careful! You never know what's out here."

She bit her lower lip as her face turned even redder (if that was even possible).

 _This can't get any worse, can it?_

She immediately turned her gaze upward to spare herself from further embarrassment. It was at that moment that she noticed the ring around his neck. It was a small and simple golden band that hung on a gleaming silver chain. She found herself strangely fascinated by it. After a few seconds, she realized that it was almost unhealthy. She looked up again at his face to pull herself away from its draw. She immediately saw the relief in his azure eyes and suddenly began to put the pieces together.

Albeit in one of the most humiliating ways possible, she had finally found the Ringbearer. 


	7. Chapter VI: Frodo

Merida kept her gaze up as the Ringbearer walked her to the banks of the river, her wet skirts draping over his bare body.

"My clothes aren't far from that tree. Would you mind fetching them for me?" he politely asked her as soon as they were out of the water. She looked up at his face and quietly nodded, then went off to grab the pile of garments she found previously.

She came back with the bundle in her arms. The Ringbearer was now standing behind one of the other trees, with one of the the branches strategically covering him. She instinctively handed him his undergarments and trousers first without making eye contact. She heard a soft, polite "Thank you" from behind.

She looked over her shoulder and handed him both of the shirts. She couldn't help taking a look at the gleaming mithril mail she'd discovered previously as he put it on - or secretly admiring how it flowed over his form.

"If you don't mind me asking... Where did you get that?"

"It was an heirloom from my uncle."

He looked over his shoulder, his piercing blue eyes returning her gaze.

"Who exactly are you, anyway?"

His voice was surprisingly calm.

"Merida. My name's Merida. I'm from Dunland."

His brows furrowed for a moment.

"I haven't heard much good about that place."

"To be honest, neither have I. Our people have been under the spell of Saruman for a long while now."

"An old friend of my uncle's knew him quite well," he responded ruefully as he put on the other other shirt and began to button it.

"Who was he?"

"Gandalf. Gandalf the Grey. Saruman betrayed him when he tried to ask for his aid. He later died in Moria."

"I'm so sorry."

He turned again to look her in the eye once more.

"I appreciate your sympathies, Merida."

"Um... I don't think I ever caught your name."

"It's Frodo. Frodo Baggins."

Merida let a small smile cross her face.

"It's nice to meet you - officially, that is."

Frodo returned her smile as his own crossed his elegantly curved lips - one that made Merida's cheeks involuntarily flush. He stepped in front of the tree that he had been using as his dressing panel as he pulled up his suspenders and put on his vest, jacket, and cloak. Merida's eyes darted to the leaf-shaped brooch as he fastened it. The brooch itself was quite beautiful with its emerald hue, but strangely enough, she found the hands that worked to close it to be no less so. The nails were short and rugged, and his fingers were not slender like a woman's, but they seemed long and well proportioned nonetheless.

"It's good to meet you as well."

Her gaze quickly shifted back to his face.

"Forgive me for asking, but what exactly were you doing here?" he asked.

"I-I was trying to get some water," she responded sheepishly.

Frodo suddenly noticed that her water canteen was still empty.

"Would you like me to fill that for you?"

She nodded and gave it to him.

"Thank you."

For a brief moment, she stood there and watched him go back to the banks of the river. Suddenly, she shook her head and looked for something else to do.

 _Stop it already! Keep this rubbish up, and you'll be looking like a member of the MacIntosh posse!_

She vividly remembered when the MacIntoshes, along with the MacGuffins and Dingwalls, were vying for her hand in marriage. Lord MacIntosh's son, Young MacIntosh, was the first to attempt to hit the target that would ensure his betrothal (she had chosen archery as the choice sport). She remembered the way he had looked over his shoulder at the group of squealing young peasant girls. At that moment, she'd rolled her eyes and wondered why he didn't want to marry one of them instead. Whoever he chose would've certainly been a far more willing partner than she would've been.

Come to think of it, she fancied that Frodo could've passed for a MacIntosh - at least in looks. The only problem was that poor Young MacIntosh had an obscenely large nose and a chest-puffing ego to match it. Plus, he was as vain as a peacock when it came to strutting his supposed prowess with the opposite sex. What she had seen of Frodo so far was the exact opposite. In fact, she hardly had a clue on why he suddenly fascinated her so much. It couldn't have been merely from seeing him bathe in the river.

...

Fergus looked out at the gates of his kingdom once more. He knew Rohan was near - and that he needed to go there soon. But first he needed to muster the courage to tell his wife that their daughter had ventured off to seek the Ringbearer- along with everything else that transpired in Rivendell.

Angus neighed anxiously. The steed still wasn't used to having anyone other than Merida astride him.

"It's all right, Angus," Fergus said to the horse, almost in a whisper. He took a deep breath before eyeing the guards. They scrambled to open it as soon as they recognized who he was.

Fergus rode in and sent Angus to the stables as soon as he was able. He then entered Castle DunBroch, searching for his wife. The servants were quick to acknowledge his return. It didn't take long before he saw her practically running down the stairs.

"Fergus!"

She held a fistful of her skirts in each hand as she rushed towards him, only letting go to give him a great hug.

"You're back!"

"That's right. I'm here, lass."

Once the embrace was broken, Elinor's eyes darted around the room.

"... Where's Merida?"

"There's something I need to tell you."

"What is it?"

"Elinor... When we were in Rivendell... We found out about what's happening out there. We cannot breathe a word to a single soul about what I'm about to tell you."

"I don't care! I just want to know what happened to our daughter!"

Fergus sighed.

"She went out to find the Ringbearer."

"The Ringbearer?"

"Aye. This entire war is over a magic ring - which is said to be forged by the Lord of Mordor himself. The only way to destroy it is to take it to the fires of Mount Doom and throw it into the burning fires. They sent someone to do it, and in order to prove our loyalty... Merida offered to accompany him and ensure that it's done."

"And you didn't do anything to stop her?! Fergus - how do we know they aren't lying to us?! Do we even know who this Ringbearer is?!"

"Elinor-"

She turned around and buried her face in her hands.

"Merida...! Our child... My daughter... She's probably lost... Confused..."

"Elinor..."

"... Why? WHY DID YOU DO THIS?"

Fergus breathed deeply.

"Elinor, this is bigger than all of us. Our daughter knows what she's doing. She's a strong, strong lass - stronger than anyone knows."

"Imagine all the glory and honor she'll bring to Dunland when she comes home," he continued with a substantially softened voice. "She'll be a great heroine, the world will be safe again, and we'll be celebrating ourselves into oblivion."

" _ **If**_ she returns," Elinor responded. "How can you promise that she'll come back?"

Fergus sighed.

"I can't. But I have to believe she will return. WE have to believe that - for the sake of our sanity."

Elinor ran into him and buried her face into one of his massive shoulders, sobbing. He instinctively wrapped his arms around his wife and waited for her tears to pass. 


	8. Chapter VII: And So The Journey Begins

An idea suddenly popped into Merida's head as she saw a bird fly by. She immediately readied her bow and arrow as she saw another one follow closely behind, waiting for it to reach the ideal target as she drew back the arrow and took a deep breath. Seconds later, she released it and sent it flying straight into her winged prey.  
She whipped out another arrow and shot the one ahead, driving it to a similar fate as the bird behind it.

Merida was quick to gather the fresh kill and began to gather some firewood immediately afterwards. She plopped the firewood in a pile near the river and was about to de-feather the birds when Frodo came back with her water skin in hand. His eyes widened slightly as his eyebrows suddenly raised. A quiet gasp escaped his lips.

"Did you catch those yourself?"

A wide grin appeared on Merida's face as she nodded emphatically.

"I did indeed!"

Frodo continued to look in awe at Merida with those two birds. Her brow suddenly furrowed in confusion.

"What?"

Frodo shook his head.

"I'm sorry - it's just that," He paused hesitantly before continuing.

"... I've never run across a girl who could hunt before."

"It's all right. That's a pretty typical response," she replied, a slight twinge of exasperation in her voice.

"My own mother says that ladies shouldn't even have weapons to begin with."

His brows raised again as his lips parted slightly.

"I'm sorry," he said again, almost in a whisper. "We have to be able to defend ourselves regardless. Those without swords can still die upon them."

Merida smiled, despite the grim tone of his last statement.

"Now you sound like my da."

She turned to her catch again.

"All right, I'd better get to de-feathering these birds before my hunt goes to waste."

"Would you like some help with that?" he asked in a light and cordial tone.

Merida looked up at him smiled.

"Sure."

He sat down and took one of the birds, eyeing the firewood that she'd laid on the ground.

"You may want to be careful when you light that fire."

"Hm?"

"Someone who we don't want following us could spot it and find us if it burns too brightly or for too long. I'd suggest putting it out as soon as the meat's done," he warned.

"My friends and I learned that the hard way on Weathertop."

Suddenly he began to feel the pain again in his left shoulder. He paused and placed his hand there. A soft but audible grunt escaped him.

Merida looked over to him and raised an eyebrow.

"Are you all right?"

He looked back, giving her a small reassuring smile.

"I'm fine, Merida."

...

King Fergus was in the courtyard once more, ready to leave Dunland for another quest. This time, he was astride Angus. Merida was gone. All that he or Elinor could do for her now was to pray that she was safe. The three little princes were clinging to their mother's skirts as they looked up at him once more.

"It's all right, lads," he said said to them, trying to sound confident in spite of the turmoil in his mind. "I'll be back - and so will Merida."

He shifted his gaze to his wife as he temporarily dismounted Angus and walked towards her. As he approached her, she placed her hands on his massive shoulders and looked him straight in the eye. It was as though he could see all of her cares in hers.

"Where are you going?" she asked, almost in a whisper.

"Rohan," he replied. "They can help us. Théoden can help us."

"How?"

"The Rohirrim. Elrond said that they were some of the strongest warriors among men."

"Besides," he continued. "He's helped me before."

He paused to take one last look at his wife, and then leaned in to kiss her.

"Wish me luck."

Elinor threw her arms around him.

"I will!"

She let go of him and looked him in the eye once more.

"Just be safe and bring Merida home."

"I will, darling."

He remounted Angus and looked over his shoulder, giving everyone behind him a quiet, reassuring nod before passing through the gates again.


	9. Chapter VIII: Fergus and Théoden

**A/N: To AnonymousBookLover55 - Thank you for pointing out the error! :O I honestly have no idea what went wrong with the upload - and I'm sorry for the technical glitch in this chapter! Hopefully the same thing won't happen to my latest attempt at uploading this!**

 **To Sev Baggins - Thank you for your constant support! :) Things will get much better and juicier as things go along here - and in even more so in The Lover From the Sea! Viva Frodrida!**

 **Chapter VIII: Fergus and Théoden**

Fergus ventured off from his home and towards the rolling fields of Rohan, lost in his thoughts as he rode astride his daughter's horse.

He hadn't been to Rohan or seen its king, Théoden, since he was a young lad - when he went on a quest to Gondor to win the hand of his queen, Elinor. He passed by countless trees and rolling hills as he journeyed on to fulfill his current one.

Elrond had said that the Rohirrim were among the greatest warriors among men - and Fergus knew he was right.

** _The prince of Clan DunBroch was lying on the ground, motionless and in pain. His horse had been hacked to pieces by orcs._

 _No help would come. He knew this. Undoubtedly, a man from one of the other clans would reach Gondor first - and possibly take Princess Elinor by force. This would be definitely true if that man were from the Larg clan. The Largs were known for their orcish brutality._

 _He had a slash across his stomach from the orc ambush. He figured that he'd be choking on his own blood soon._

 _The sound of hooves suddenly materialized from the distance. He could feel their vibration in the earth he lay on. There must have been at least forty men on horseback. He could see them on the horizon. The mere thought of the Rohirrim made him sick._

 _He was a prince among the Wild Men of Dunland. The Wild Men had hated Rohan for as long as anyone could remember. His people always saw their Rohirric neighbors as plunderers on horses who drove them into the hills and took their land._

 _Before he knew it, the horsemen were mere feet away - so close that he could hear the conversation of the men along with the heavy breathing of their horses._

 _"I thought there would be a hoard of orcs here."_

 _"Those pieces of filth must have run off."_

 _"Be careful, and have your swords ready," said one of them, who appeared to be the leader. "They could be waiting for the cover of night, or could be lying in ambush."_

 _"It's probably the former. No orc or goblin could survive daylight."_

 _"I don't know. I've heard rumors that they've started breeding armies in order to make them stronger."_

 _Despite the faint beating of Fergus' heart, it leaped out of his chest when he noticed one of the men eyeing him and trotting his horse in his direction._

 _"It looks like those filths already killed a man."_

 _"Aye - A wild man no doubt," said another. "That's what one gets for fighting alongside the servants of Mordor. Good riddance, I say."_

 _At his normal strength, Fergus would've sprung to his feet and knocked him off his horse into the next fortnight. His heart only sunk when the leader of the pack trotted forward and dismounted his horse, walking towards him until his feet were only mere inches from his body._

 _The leader of the Rohirrim looked down at him for what seemed like a good long while before turning back to his comrades._

 _"He's not dead."_

 _..._

 _The young Théoden halted when he and his men reached the spot where they had expected to find an orcish encampment, only to be surrounded by more trees and rolling plains. It seemed to blend in with the same scenery that had surrounded them for days- save for a couple of ghastly additions._

 _The bloody corpse of a dark brown horse lay on the ground, its lifeless body hacked to pieces. An unmistakably orcish blade was nearby, covered in an all too familiar thick crimson liquid._

 _A few feet away lay what appeared to be the fresh remains of a large, burly man who appeared to be around the same age as the Rohirric prince. Even under the caked dirt and blood, Théoden could tell that the man's short beard and shoulder length hair were a fiery shade of red. A nasty gash marred his abdomen and tore through the now bloody leather garments and chain mail. His barbaric garb gave him away as a man of Dunland- a wild man. However, something about the dying man gave Théoden the sneaking suspicion that he ranked high among his people- perhaps it was the rings on his fingers or the metal cuffs that adorned several of his braided locks, which was not unlike what he'd seen on the beards of dwarves._

 _Théoden could hear the men behind him conversing about what they were supposed to see. One even foolishly stated that the orcs might have run off. Théoden looked over his shoulder at them._

 _"Be careful, and have your swords ready. They could be waiting for the cover of night, or could be lying in ambush."_

 _The men conversed, speaking to him of rumors about the breeding of orcs and goblins. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he noticed the mortally wounded wild man's chest rising and falling. The men behind him had assumed that he was dead, as Théoden himself had initially presumed._

 _He trotted his horse towards the wild man, and once he was close enough, he dismounted his horse and came closer, until his feet were mere inches from the wild man's head. Théoden looked down and heard the man's labored breathing. The man at his feet was about to cough up blood when a jolting idea flashed through his mind - an idea that most would have dismissed as utter madness. He stood and hesitated for several moments, debating with himself. Against his better judgment, he succumbed. His only reassurance was what he told himself- that it was only in the hopes of obtaining information about the orcs._

 _Théoden turned back to his men._

 _"He's not dead."_

 _He paused, scanning their faces before continuing._

 _"Which one of you can spare your horse?"_

 _The Rohirrim exchanged confused glances towards one another. Théoden stared them down before letting out a frustrated sigh._

 _"Fine - I'll carry him myself! If we keep him alive, he may be able to give us some much needed information about the orcs." **_

Théoden had saved Fergus' life all those years ago. The two had become unlikely friends and personal allies - and Fergus had never borne any ill will towards Rohan since. It had been many years since the two had seen each other - and only Eru knew how much had changed since then.

All that King Fergus could hope for now was that things hadn't changed for the worse - and that his daughter Merida was safe. Much of his hope for his life, his family, his kingdom, and Middle Earth now rested on luck and his old unlikely friendship. And so, with all the determination he had left, he rode for Rohan.


	10. Chapter IX: An Elf, A Dwarf, and A Man

Chapter IX: An Elf, A Dwarf, and A Man

The smell of death, smoke, and orc filth suddenly filled Fergus' nostrils. His nose wrinkled at the foul stench as he spotted a spire of black smoke rising in the air from a short distance, along with what looked like a pile of hideous corpses blackened from charring. He covered his nose and mouth with his arm as the stench suddenly made him cough.

"What in Eru's name happened here?" he said aloud as he rode towards the pile to investigate. A grotesque severed orc head on a spear greeted him when he neared the pile, its swollen tongue lolling out from its gaping mouth. That wasn't what stopped him in his tracks, though.

Someone else had reached the smoldering pile first - three of them, in fact. A dwarf with an unruly red braid hanging down his back from his helmet was probing the burning pile with his axe. A blonde elf who seemed to be from the Mirkwood region stood guard as a man with long dark hair searched the pile along with the dwarf. The man's clothes were rugged and well-worn - as if he'd spent years in the wilderness and changed seldomly, as Fergus suspected was actually the case.

The elf's icy blue eyes darted straight for Fergus as he approached the three of them. Fergus almost froze in fear as he noticed him drawing out an arrow from his quiver. The dwarf turned around and raised his axe from his work. The man in the rugged clothes shifted his gaze towards him and rose, walking towards him as he casually rested his hand on the hilt of the sword at his hip. However, the dwarf dashed towards Fergus and reached him first, his axe still drawn as though he were to hack at Angus' limbs.

"What business does a man of Dunland have here?" he asked demandingly.

"I'm headed for Rohan," Fergus responded.

"To do the bidding of Saruman, no doubt!"

"Nay! I come for Théoden!"

"Agh, what does it matter? Their minds are one in the same anyway!"

Fergus' eyes widened in disbelief for a brief moment, and then his brows furrowed in confusion.

"What do you mean?"

"That's enough, Gimli," said the other man, who now stood only a few steps behind the dwarf. He walked towards Fergus until he was standing right next to him, his hand resting nonchalantly on Angus' side while his other still rested on the hilt of his sword. In that moment, Fergus noticed that the man wore a strange serpentine ring with a deep green jewel at its center. He looked up at Fergus, as though to silently give his condolences to him for an unknown loss.

"We just ran across his nephew, Éomer, along with the Rohirrim. He says that Saruman has taken over the mind of the king, and in his fevered state, he had banished his own kin."

Now Fergus was truly grief-stricken - and the man with the ring knew it just by looking at his face.

"Was he a friend of yours?"

"Aye, in a way. It was many years ago."

"I am sorry."

Fergus slightly sniffled before quickly changing the subject.

"What are you all doing digging around this filthy mess?"

"We're tracking our friends. They were captured by orcs."

Fergus wanted to shudder at the mere thought of that.

"I'm the one who should be apologizing now. That's a bad fate for anyone."

"Éomer said that he and his men ambushed the orcs in the night, and that they had left no one alive."

The man sighed as a sudden sadness appeared in his eyes.

"Unfortunately, there's a good chance that our friends were casualties in the night raid."

As if on cue, Gimli dug up a relic from the smoking pile - a badly burned piece of leather bearing a once beautiful metal embellishment, which Fergus assumed was once a hilt for a dagger.

"It's one of the elven belts."

Fergus noticed the elf bow his head, muttering an inaudible prayer. He thought that he caught a glimpse of tears glistening from the man's eyes as he walked over to the burning pile, kicked a blackened helmet, and screamed out in pain. Despite the fact that the king of Dunland didn't even know the name of the other man, the sight still managed to take a hard tug at his heartstrings as the stranger fell to his knees.

"We failed them," Gimli stated, defeated.

The elf removed his hand from his heart as the man looked ruefully at the littered ground before him.

"A hobbit lay here," he stated, placing his hand on an indentation on the dead, yellowed grass. "And here... and here."

"They crawled..." he continued, crawling on his hands and knees himself as though reenacting what he thought had happened.

"Their hands were bound," he said, finally rising to his feet.

Fergus' eyes widened as the man pulled out a hay-covered fragment of roughly woven rope.

"Their bonds were cut." The man's eyes were now peering out into the distance as he dropped the rope and continued to follow the tracks.

"They ran over here,"

Now the elf and the dwarf were following him. Fergus quickly dismounted Angus and began to do the same.

"They were followed," he said, suddenly running in the direction of the tracks.

"The tracks lead away from the battle - into Fangorn forest."

He stopped right where the great mass of trees began.

"Fangorn," Gimli repeated. "What madness drove them there?"

The elf turned to Fergus.

"And what of this man?"

The man who had just analyzed the scene looked over his shoulder at Fergus.

"If you help us, we'll do our best to help you with Théoden."

He walked over to him, studying him as though as a final check to discern him as a friend or foe.

"Do we have a deal?"

"Aye, but I'd at least like to know your names before running off into the blue."

"I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn," the man replied.

"This is Gimli, son of Gloin, and Legolas of the woodland realm."

"And I am Fergus of Clan DunBroch."

"All right!" Gimli retorted. "Let's get this over with!"

...

Frodo and Merida had made some progress on their journey to Mordor. Despite the harsh and frustrating circumstances, the two of them had grown to get along quite well. Frodo seemed to be quite impressed with Merida's resourcefulness and her hunting skills. Yet the Ring bore more heavily on his neck and his heart each day, though he barely showed it.

Frodo looked out ahead and saw the foreboding black clouds in the distance with a streak of fiery red. He from the dark towers that pierced the ominous sky that they weren't the sign of a coming storm.

"Mordor," he said aloud. "I hope the others find a safer road."

Merida raised an eyebrow.

"The others?"

"My friends."

She smiled sadly. During the time they'd been together, he'd mentioned the other eight companions he'd started out with. She couldn't help but think of her own family.

"Aye. It seems that we're all in this now."

Frodo looked over his shoulder at her, his eyes filled with a mixture of rue and compassion.

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"That you got dragged into this."

The corner of her mouth twitched up in a smirk.

"I dragged myself into this. If anything happens to me, I've got only myself to blame."

"Do you think we'll ever see our friends and family again?"

"I certainly hope so, Frodo."

"Merida..."

The serenity in his voice was stunning as he reached to gently touch her arm.

"I'm glad you're with me."

With that, he began to walk towards their grim destination. Merida followed close behind. Both were as ready as they ever would be to change the fate of Middle Earth.


	11. Chapter X: Careful

Chapter X: Careful

Frodo and Merida had been wandering the rocky borders of Emyn Muil for days. The great black tower of Mordor loomed in the distance, as if to taunt them.

Before long, a slim, rocky path that seemed to lead them towards their dark destination caught Merida's eye. She immediately looked over her shoulder, ready to call out to her companion, who was several feet behind her.

"Frodo!"

He looked up, walking slowly in her direction as he scrutinized the surroundings before him.

"I think this path could bring us closer to the black gate!"

Frodo came and stood next to her as he stared out at the stony, stick thin bridge before them.

"Is there a way around?"

"Not unless we go around for miles - and the sooner we get to Mordor, the sooner we'll be able to destroy that ring of yours."

"I don't think it's safe, Merida."

"Come on, we'll be fine! I'll even show you!"

"Merida-!"

Without a second thought, she stepped on that sliver of a bridge and began walking heel to toe.

Frodo's heart pounded as he watched her walk at least a quarter of the way with the grace of a dancer.

Suddenly, Merida gasped as her foot trembled and slipped slightly off to one side. Her arms were now flailing at her sides. Frodo immediately ran across the bridge as quickly as he could while maintaining his balance until he was mere inches behind her, firmly grasping her waist to ensure she didn't fall off. Startled, Merida gasped at the sudden touch before twirling her head over her shoulder. Her face immediately softened once she realized it was Frodo and breathed a sigh of relief. Together, with no small amount of caution, they took several slow, little steps. Merida grasped at his hands, which were still locked in place on her waist, as though they would offer even more security if she held them there.

Alas, it did not. Several steps later, it was Frodo's turn for his foot to slip off the ledge. Seconds later, the only thing that was preventing him from tumbling to some terrible fate was his viselike grip on the thin strip of stone that he had walked on. Merida instantly followed him in his fall and was now clinging on to him for dear life, clawing at his cloak, his coat, his vest, his shirt - anything attached to him that had even a remote chance of securing her hold. A few moments later, they both heard the last sound they wanted to hear: ripping fabric.

Merida frantically shifted her grasp and took a firm hold around his waist. Unfortunately, gravity wasn't working in either of their favors - Merida still slipped closer to what she was sure was a great fall, inch by terrifying inch accompanied by the sounds of further tearing.

Frodo himself was now hanging on to the ledge for dear life. His clammy palms threatened to slip off it at any moment. He desperately tried to grab the most stable surface he could - alas, to no avail. It took several slow, painful seconds for him to lose his grip completely and send them both tumbling to whatever awaited them below.

The landing thud was quick and unexpected. After getting over the initial shock, both of them began to rise to their feet and realized that neither of them were badly injured. The only real casualties were Frodo's shirt and outer vestments, which now hung in tatters as though ravaged by a warg. He extended his hand to Merida and helped her the rest of the way up.

They were both gathering their things from the clattered mess on the ground when Frodo felt a sudden, sharp and familiar pain in his shoulder.

He tried to brave through it as he picked up the last of his belongings to some avail - barely.

Merida immediately noticed the grimace on his face as his hand instinctively went to his shoulder. She was suddenly thankful that she'd watched him pluck bunches of Kingsfoil and stashed some of her own while they were still in the lusher parts of Middle Earth.

"It's that shoulder again, isn't it?"

He nodded silently, almost as though in defeat.

"We need to find shelter soon. It's getting dark."

Merida immediately began to scan her surroundings, looking for a local source of water as well as a place to sleep for the night.

After a few moments, she spotted what seemed to be a small pond and hesitantly walked towards it, keeping her bow and arrows at hand.

Once she reached the edges, she warily scanned her surroundings, a good part of her expecting some sort of monster or ambush to leap out from the shadows. She continued to do so as she carefully filled her canteen - only to find nothing else amiss.

"Merida...!"

As if on cue, she closed the canteen and headed towards the sound of Frodo's voice, which led to a cavernous cave not too far away. It was getting dark- and she had a ring bearer to attend to.


	12. Chapter XI: The Healing Hand

Chapter XI: The Healing Hand

Frodo and Merida looked around at the cave where they had tentatively planned on spending the night in. The place looked old and abandoned - and a good part of both of them expected some foul creature to dwell in here.

Despite the size of the cave, the remaining daylight still managed to light their way... only to reveal that there was no sign of life to be seen.

Another pang of icy pain struck Frodo's shoulder. He grasped it as Merida took his other hand and led him deeper into the cave, still scanning for any other signs of danger.

The place was eerily quiet - and even when they reached the end of the cave, there were still no signs of any orcs or monsters. Nor was there a foul smell or anything else that signified any peril- a rare phenomenon for a place so close to Mordor.

Merida figured that they were so deep in the cave that a campfire could barely be seen from the outside. The only contents she could find were a few pieces of broken, dead-looking branches. She gathered them and placed them in the middle of the ground, quickly grabbing the flint stones from her pouch in order to start a campfire.

"Merida...!" Frodo gasped quietly.

"It's all right, Frodo. No one's going to see us- or this," she responded, gesturing to the campfire she was creating. "Right now your shoulder's more important."

"My shoulder?"

"Don't think I haven't noticed. I've seen you grasping it for dear life ever since we got over our wee tumble."

She drew out a stone water bowl from her sack and fashioned a crude rack from the remaining branches to hold it over the fire before mixing some kingsfoil with the water from her canteen in it. She then placed it on the rack and turned her gaze back to Frodo.

"It's time we took care of it - at least so we can make it to Mordor. You definitely need all the strength you can get. Besides, it's about time that we got you out of those rags," she continued, gesturing to his now ragged shirt, vest, and coat.

He pursed his lips and began to undo the clasp of that emerald brooch that marked him as a member of the Fellowship, reverently setting it on the ground as though it were a sacred relic. In a way, it was. The green of that leaf glimmered in the firelight as Frodo carefully undid the clasp of the grey elven cloak, lowering it off his shoulders and folding it neatly on the ground. Fortunately, it hadn't suffered too much damage from the fall - only a few minor scuffs and tears.

The garments that he peeled off next told an entirely different story. Gaping threadbare holes riddled the once fine coat, especially at the seams where the sleeves met its shoulders. Frodo slipped it off and left it puddled on the ground, no longer of interest to either of them. He did the same to the vest, which now had quite a few missing buttons. His shirt was in one of the worst conditions Merida had seen for any garment, save for perhaps that dress her mother had forced her to wear on the day the lairds had competed for her hand after she'd taken a ride on Angus in it. It was riddled with tears, including one on its side, rendering the glittering mithril shirt he wore underneath strikingly visible as it winked in the firelight. He cast the torn, travel stained one aside along with his ruined outer garments before proceeding to remove the other. He carefully untucked it before grasping its hem and slowly pulling it over his head.

Merida swallowed as she watched him remove it, revealing inch by inch the same lean alabaster torso she'd seen when she'd caught him bathing in the river. When he finally finished pulling it over, he pushed the sleeves off his arms and neatly folded it before tucking it under his cloak. She needed something to divert her attention for the moment and eyed the tattered coat.

"Is it all right if I use this?"

"It's fine. Go ahead."

She was quick to remove the bowl from the heat and set it on the dry earth, using pieces of the coat as makeshift rags.

"Lie down, Frodo."

He hesitantly turned his back to her and began to lower himself to the ground. He stopped midway and looked up at her.

"Here?"

"Sure. That's fine."

He finally laid back, his head resting on her lap. His deep brown curls formed a halo against the blue green of her dress. He closed his eyes, his long dark lashes contrasting sharply with his skin.

Merida dipped one of the rags in the kingsfoil infused water and placed it over the wound on Frodo's shoulder. Initially, he winced and tensed in her lap. She gently squeezed his other shoulder, trying to soothe his muscles. She sighed. She didn't have the hands of a healer. Despite being a princess, her hands were calloused from her extensive hours of archery.

However, he seemed to relax after several moments as she continued her ministrations, moving past his shoulders and kneading the muscles in his bare back.

"You're as knotted as an old tree."

She worked up along his spine, kneading his shoulders again before doing the same to his neck, eventually working her way into his hair. His silky curls wound themselves around her fingers - especially when Frodo softly leaned into her hands. A quiet sigh escaped his lips as her fingers danced down his back again to his lower spine. Her hands skimmed his sides and were going up to his shoulders again when she suddenly noticed the Ring around his neck, its perfectly round golden form perched on his bare chest. It gleamed and winked in the firelight. The next thing she knew, she could hear a velvety, androgynous voice in her head, though its evil was thinly veiled.

"Merida..."

Her eyes widened. She gasped as she jerked her hand back. It seemed to have moved of its own volition towards the baleful thing.

Without warning, Frodo grasped them both and planted them firmly over his now heaving chest. She could feel his heart beating like a bird frantically trying to break out of its cage.

The Ring had been knocked over to the side. The only thing that kept it from falling to the ground was the chain around his neck.


	13. Chapter XII: Fangorn

Chapter XII: Fangorn

"Come on, Sam! RUN!"

Merry looked over his shoulder and continued running. Pippin was just a few feet ahead. Samwise Gamgee trailed behind both of them. All three of them were sprinting frantically away from a hideous orc, his skin blackened by a mixture of his natural hue and a blend of unknown filth. This one was particularly sadistic - he was the one who suggested to cut off the hobbits' legs when the other orcs were craving meat. He had also taunted Pippin just before they escaped into the forest. All three of the hobbits regarded the night raid occurring behind them as a gift from Eru himself.

Sam was on the verge of hyperventilating from both the labor of running and sheer panic. He sprinted on and was soon at Pippin's heels.

"I'm going to rip off your filthy little heads!" the orc shouted.

"COME HERE!"

Merry's eyes darted frantically around the forest.

They were all surrounded by trees.

"Pippin! Sam! Start climbing the trees!"

Both immediately complied and began to climb the same one. Merry wasn't far behind. All three of them were well on their way to the top when they finally began to feel safe. Merry scanned the ground below. Their ugly pursuer was nowhere to be seen.

"He's gone!"

As if on cue, Merry felt a large, greasy hand grab his ankle and pull him back down to the ground. Sam and Pippin's gazes snapped right in his direction as they watched their friend struggle at the hands of the orc in horror. Pippin couldn't hold in his fear for very long.

"MERRY!"

Right as he shouted his friend, both he and Sam heard a strange sound emitting from the tree that they were climbing- like an old man groaning after waking up from a long slumber. They both turned their heads to the trunk of the tree, where they witnessed the opening of two large, amber orbs. Sam's eyes widened in horror, his face silently frozen in fear and disbelief.

Those amber eyes looked directly at Pippin, who shrieked as he fell backwards. A giant, gnarled excuse for a hand that more closely resembled an basket of woven branches soon caught him in its wooden grasp. Before he knew it, Sam lost his balance and fell off to the side only to be caught in the other.

"RUN, MERRY!" Pippin shouted.

He was still being pursued by the raging orc, who had him pinned down within seconds. The hideous creature pulled out a broad, filthy blade and pointed it directly at Merry's stomach. The latter wasn't sure if the weapon was a short sword or a large dagger - and frankly, he didn't care.

"Let's put a maggot hole in your belly!" the orc hissed.

Merry's heart was pounding. His eyes froze in terror at the horrendous orc, preparing for the end. Suddenly, he heard a thunderous stomp mere inches away, followed by the crunching of bones beneath a foot that resembled the uprooted trunk of a large tree.

The blade that was about to bury itself into Merry's gut was now just out of reach of the orc's now unnaturally twisted hand. A few seconds later, however, neither the blade nor its wielder's wretched corpse were of interest to anyone.

Merry's gaze quickly darted to the great figure towering above him, who was now grasping his friends in each hand.

"What are you waiting for? RUN!" Sam exclaimed.

Merry quickly heeded the warnings of his friends and ran as quickly as he could. However, the treelike giant quickly gained on him and scooped him up in the same hand that was holding Pippin in its gnarly grasp.

The giant stared intently at the three of them. It was only now that they noticed the moss that hung from the creature's face, which distinctly resembled the long, pointed beard of an old man. It was only then that it - he - began to speak. His voice was so deep and thunderous that it chilled all three of the hobbits to their bones.

"Little orcs! BURÀRUM...!"

"It's talking! The tree's talking!" Pippin frantically commented.

"Tree?! I am no tree! I am an Ent."

Merry grinned in excitement for a moment.

"Treehearder!"

Sam was just staring up in awe, unsure of how to react.

"A shepherd of the forest...!"

"Don't talk to it. Don't encourage it!" Pippin warned.

The Ent continued despite his comment.

"Treebeard, some call me..."

"And whose side are you on?" Pippin asked timidly.

"Side? I am on nobody's side, because nobody's on my side, little orc. Nobody cares for the woods anymore."

"We're not orcs!" Merry exclaimed. "We're hobbits!"

Treebeard's eyes wandered off, as though in thought.

"Hobbits...? Never heard of a hobbit before..."

The ent's gaze immediately shifted back to his three captives with renewed anger in his eyes.

"Sounds like orc mischief to me!"

He tightened his grasp on the three hobbits, who all groaned and whimpered in pain.

"You don't understand!" Merry shouted. "We're hobbits!"

Pippin quickly chimed in, as did Sam.

"Halflings!"

"Shire Folk!"

"Maybe you are, and maybe you aren't," Treebeard responded. "The White Wizard will know."

Pippin echoed his words in a panicked whisper.

"White wizard..."

Merry's eyes widened at the sudden realization.

"Saruman...!"

Before they knew it, the three hobbits were dropped to the ground at the feet of an old man in glowing white robes.

Sam's eyes widened in shock. There was no doubt that the man towering above them was the White Wizard... but he certainly was not Saruman.

"Mister Gandalf...?!"

...

The cave that Frodo and Merida now resided in was still shrouded in darkness. Merida wouldn't have even been able to see her own hand in front of her face had it not been for the faintly glowing phial that was buried beneath Frodo's mithril shirt.

Frodo was still asleep and bare to the waist. His curls were swept over his face, giving him a dreamy, serene look. He'd used the torn shirt and vest as a pillow, and his cloak for a blanket. The latter garment almost blended with the stone of the cave. Merida couldn't help but stare a little while longer, secretly wishing that her mission was to hide away with him from the troubles of the world outside. She watched his eyelids flutter open. Even in this dim light, his blue eyes seemed to glimmer like a pristine lake in the dead of night. He slowly rose, allowing the cloak to fall below his waist and gather at his hips.

She did the same and quickly clasped on her cloak. Frodo watched her as she did so and gathered her things, momentarily unsure of what to say or do. Her bright mane stood out even in the dim, muffled light of Galadriel's phial. Her touch the night before had healed and soothed him to a much greater extent than he'd expected.

"Is it morning yet?" he asked quietly.

"I don't know, but I'm going outside to find out."

"Wait-!"

He suddenly grasped her forearm, albeit gently.

"L-let me go with you."

"We're going to have to keep going regardless," he continued, rationalizing his thoughts. "It's dangerous out there."

He quickly grabbed his mithril shirt and slipped it over his head. He then sifted through his belongings until he found a spare shirt in his pack, which he quickly put on and buttoned over the silvery mail. He deftly tucked them both in his trousers before throwing on the vest and cloak. He then reverently clasped the green brooch over his throat and rose to his feet.

He was quick to grab his belongings and follow Merida out of the cave. Sure enough, the very first rays of dawn were cracking at the very entrance.

Frodo clutched the Ring around his neck as he took one last glance at the cave, which was now nothing more than a black abyss. Merida did the same before they both walked away, carrying on with their journey to Mordor.

...

"Frodo?"

"Yes?"

"Out of curiosity... what does that leaf brooch mean?"

"Hm?"

"The one at the clasp of your cloak?"

"It was a gift from Lady Galadriel," he responded. "As was this," he added as he carefully pulled out the phial. Had she not seen it glow in the cave, Merida would have thought that it was little more than a fancy glass water vessel.

"She gave us all gifts when we left Lothlorien," he commented.

"We?"

He looked up at her.

"Yes. There were nine of us originally."

"Were you all supposed to go to Mordor together?"

Frodo looked at her, puzzled, before giving his answer.

"... I doubt it."

"What happened?"

"We separated."

He clutched the Ring around his neck.

"One of them wanted to take it for himself."

"Who?"

Frodo sighed heavily.

"Boromir. Boromir was his name. He was from Gondor."

Merida paused.

"I'm sorry."

Frodo looked at her again, a small smile crossing his lips as his eyes softened. Those **_eyes_**.

Merida couldn't help but study that serene, beautiful face for a few moments before they both walked on... closer to Mordor.


	14. Chapter XIII: Ghosts Return

Chapter XIII: Ghosts Return

Frodo and Merida were on the verge of falling asleep under the clouded night sky. The latter watched the former's crystal blue eyes drift closed into a light fitful sleep, the Ring clutched firmly in his hand. She listened to his breathing slowly ease and become steadier and watched his chest rise and fall. She'd probably have rested her head there if she were less inhibited.

She instead lay awake for what seemed like hours staring at the dark sky. However, it wasn't long before she began to hear what sounded like disembodied wind chimes singing a soft, eerie song while swaying gently in the breeze mingled with quiet, unintelligible whispers. It wasn't long before she heard an unmistakable, high-pitched sigh.

"Oooooh... Heeeee..."

She rose to a seated position and saw a white, somewhat amorphous will-o-the-wisp hovering over a nearby rock. For a few moments, it remained there, as though unsure of what it should do as Merida stared at it in awe. Her mother had once told her that will-o-the-wisps would lead whoever followed them to his or her fate.

The wisp slowly floated towards her until it was hovering over her lap. Merida placed the palm of her hand beneath it as tendrils began to materialize all around it, forming... branches and roots? Suddenly seven little lights, like stars, floated above it. Merida watched in awe, unaware that Frodo began to stir.

He slowly rose, not entirely registering what was happening before him until he was completely awake. His eyes suddenly widened in horror. The only wisps he knew of were those that lived in the Dead Marshes. It seemed that their sole purpose was to drag their helpless victims into their murky depths.

Frodo rose to his knees, then his feet, as he slowly drew out Sting.

Merida was startled out of her trance when the wisp glanced to its right and suddenly flew out of her hand. Seconds later, it was floating inches from Frodo's face before slowly backing away to a normal distance. Their eyes did not leave it even once as it discarded its tree shape and reverted to an amorphous mass of soft light once more, growing larger and larger until it began to take on the shape of a man. Details and features slowly began to materialize until the ghostly figure was unbelievably recognizable to Frodo.

"B-Boromir...?!"

The ghost looked at Frodo solemnly, as if he were about to give a formal apology. In a way, he was.

"Yes, it is I - at least, what remains of him."

Merida quietly gasped and placed her hand over her mouth, despite the fact that this was the first time she actually saw him. A similar expression of shock was plastered on Frodo's face as well.

"What remains of him...?! That would mean that you're dead! How?!"

"I was slain by a pack of orcs after you left."

Boromir paused before continuing.

"But it matters not. The last time I saw you when I was alive, I tried to claim the Ring. I betrayed you, Frodo. I offer you my service as a form of reparation. I shall not rest until my debt is paid."

Frodo looked up at him, stunned. Boromir and Merida could both tell that he was silently reliving the last time he saw Boromir alive.

"This is my first command," he finally stammered, his shaking voice detracting from the authority of his words. "What fate have the others met?"

"Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli are alive and well. They've set out to rescue your friends."

"Rescue? What's happened to them?"

"They were captured by orcs. I died trying to fend off those filthy creatures while Sam, Merry, and Pippin were distracting the enemy. The orcs think that one of them has the Ring."

Frodo's eyes were now glued to the ghostly figure and wide open. His bottom lip quivered. His breath was quite audible.

"A-are they all right?"

His eyes began to glisten with tears.

"I do not know- though I hope as much as you do that it is so," Boromir responded. "I'm so sorry, Frodo. I'm sorry for them, for you - and for my last words and deeds to you when I was alive."

"Very well," Frodo said, holding back the tears. "I accept. Thank you."

Boromir gave a small, sad smile to both him and Merida before vanishing back into the form of a white will-o-the-wisp. He floated into Merida's bag without another word.

Frodo raised his gaze to the sky, his face as tragic and serene as a beautiful statue in a tomb. The tears finally rolled down streamed down his face. It wasn't long before the sting of tears came to Merida's eyes as she watched him. She couldn't hold it back. She rushed to his side and buried her face into his shoulder as he slowly wove his fingers into her hair.

...

Aragorn was the first to enter the dense forest of Fangorn. Legolas and Gimli quickly followed, as did Fergus.

They rushed in, only stopping when they noticed strange tracks in the ground. Gimli plucked a black-stained leaf from a bush and promptly took it to his mouth. He spat whatever he tasted right out as soon as it reached his taste buds.

"Ptui! Orc blood!"

"These are strange tracks," Aragorn observed, apparently taking no heed to Gimli.

"The forest is old," Legolas suddenly stated, his eyes staring off into the forest-filled space around him. "Very old. Full of memory... and anger."

"What does that even mean?" Fergus asked, genuinely confused.

Alarmingly audible groans could be heard throughout the forest. The very hairs on the back of Fergus' neck stood on end, as did those on Gimli's. The latter instinctively raised his axe.

"The trees are speaking to each other..." Legolas continued.

"What?!" Fergus spat.

"Gimli!" Aragorn whispered.

"Huh?"

"Lower your axe."

Aragorn's eyes shifted to Fergus, who had followed Gimli's suit with his sword.

"Same goes for you, Fergus."

Fergus followed Aragorn's instructions, slowly lowering his sword.

Legolas turned to him soon after.

"Aragorn, nad nâ ennas!"

(Aragorn, something's out there!)

"Man cenich?" (What do you see?)

"The White Wizard approaches."

If there weren't chills down Fergus' spine already, there certainly were now.

"Do not let him speak. He will put a spell on us," Aragorn stated as he grasped his hilt. Gimli did the same with his axes, and Fergus with his sword. Legolas notched an arrow into his bow. All were ready to strike.

"We must be quick."

Gimli and Fergus let out a battle cry as they both threw their weapons at the obscure glowing figure of the White Wizard. Legolas shot an arrow in his direction. All three of their attacks were promptly deflected, sending their weapons flying off into the forest. Aragorn's sword turned red hot in his hands before he could strike, sending it clattering to the ground. A deep, authoritative voice emanated from their bright target.

"You are tracking the footsteps of three young hobbits."

"Where are they?!" Aragorn demanded.

"They passed this way the day before yesterday. They met someone they did not expect. Does that comfort you?"

"Who are you?" Aragorn asked. "Show yourself!"

The bright white light faded back, revealing a man in dressed entirely in white. His straight, clean hair and beard matched his robes and framed his wizened face.

An elegantly carved wooden staff rested in his hands, which was that same pure hue.

The faces of Legolas, Gimli, and Aragorn morphed into expressions of awe. Fergus' eyes widened in confusion as he looked around him and saw the elf and the dwarf fall on one knee in reverence.

"It cannot be," Aragorn whispered, who was still standing. "

"What is in the name of Eru this?!" Fergus exclaimed. "Is this man not Saruman?!"

Gimli briefly glared up at him. His response was barely above a grumble.

"No, you dolt."

"Forgive me," Legolas said. "We mistook you for him."

"I am Saruman," the wizard replied. "Or rather, Saruman as he should have been."

"You fell...!" Aragorn remarked.

"Through fire... and water."

"From the lowest dungeon to the highest peak, I fought with the Balrog of Morgoth," the wizard continued. "Until at last I threw down my enemy and smote his ruin upon the mountainside. Darkness took me, and I strayed out of thought and time... Stars wheeled overhead, and every day was as long as a life age of the Earth... but it was not the end. I felt life in me again. I've been sent back, until my task is done."

Aragorn stared in awe, riveted by the wizard's account.

"Gandalf...!"

"Gandalf?"

The wizard seemed confused, as though he were called the wrong name. The expression faded as quickly as it came. It seemed as though he now remembered.

"Yes, that was what they used to call me... Gandalf the Grey. That was my name."

He smiled, as though a fond memory had entered his mind.

An even wider one crossed Gimli's face.

"Gandalf!"

A twinkle in glimmered in Gandalf's eyes.

"I am Gandalf the White... and I come to you now at the turn of the tide."

His gaze suddenly shifted to Fergus.

"Who is this?"

Fergus cleared his throat.

"Fergus. Fergus of Dunland."

"Dunland?"

The puzzled look returned to Gandalf's face.

"And yet you stand here with Gimli, son of Gloìn, Legolas, son of Thranduil, and Aragorn, son of Arathorn?"

"It appears so. I am a friend to Théoden of Rohan - though, admittedly, an unlikely one."

"Ah, I see," Gandalf responded. His face suddenly turned grimmer. "It would grieve you then, to learn that he has been enslaved by Saruman."

"Enslaved?! How?! What's happened to his family - his people?!"

"Saruman has taken hold over his mind. I am afraid that he is not the man you knew him to be."

Fergus let out a quiet gasp. Gandalf maintained his gaze, his eyes full of sympathy.

"I am sorry."

Aragorn reverently handed Gandalf a spare cloak, who promptly draped it over his shoulders.

"We will do the best we can to save him," the wizard reassured. "But now is not the time to grieve."

"One stage of your journey is over, another begins. We must travel to Edoras with all speed."

"Edoras?" Gimli repeated. "That is no short distance!"

"We heard of the trouble in Rohan before Fergus arrived. Éomer has been exiled," Aragorn stated.

"Yes. A sickness lies on the king's mind that will not be easily cured," replied Gandalf. His comment was enough to send Gimli ranting.

"Then we have come all this way for nothing! Are we to leave those poor hobbits in this horrid, dark, dank, tree infested-"

His diatribe was cut off by the loud groaning of the trees.

"I mean - charming! Quite charming...forest!"

"It was more than mere chance that brought Merry, Pippin, and Sam to Fangorn. A great power has been sleeping here for many long years. The coming of Merry, Pippin, and Sam will be like the falling of stones that starts an avalanche in the mountains."

"In one thing, you have not changed, dear friend," remarked Aragorn. Gandalf leaned in out of curiosity. "You still speak in riddles."

Gandalf chuckled mirthfully at his comment.

"A thing is about to happen that has not happened since the elder days," the wizard continued. "The Ents are going to wake up... and find that they are strong."

Gimli's eyes darted around the forest. "Strong?"

The forest groaned at him in response.

"Well, that's good," the dwarf said nervously. Gandalf was quick to scold him.

"So stop your fretting, Master Dwarf! Merry, Pippin and Sam are quite safe. In fact, they are far safer than you are about to be!"

Gimli couldn't help grumbling under his breath.

"This new Gandalf's grumpier than the old one!"

 **A/N: Happy Gondorian New Year, everyone! Thank you for all of your wonderful reviews and Support! :)**


	15. Chapter XIV: In The Shadows

Chapter XIV: In the Shadows

Gandalf, Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli and Fergus were quick to leave Fangorn. Fergus was stunned at how much light those trees had blocked out, since the field seemed to be bathed in sunlight. Gandalf began to whistle. A long, high-pitched note pierced the air. A stunning, pure white horse appeared seconds later and was galloping towards the five of them.

Fergus simply stared in awe. Legolas craned his neck to get a better look.

"That is one of the Maeras - unless my eyes are cheated by some spell!"

The horse trotted to Gandalf and bowed his head.

"Shadowfax," the wizard introduced as he stroked the steed's neck. "He is the lord of all horses, and has been my friend through many dangers."

The five of them were quick to mount their horses, and they were quick to ride to Edoras.

...

Frodo lay asleep, bundled in his cloak as the sky was shrouded in night. Merida had cucooned herself in the black bear fur that her father had given her and was as fast asleep as the Ringbearer.

The only part of Boromir that was asleep was his abandoned corpse, of which he'd lost track long ago. He drifted out of Merida's bag and reassumed his ghostly humanoid form, observing the peaceful faces of his masters.

Frodo's eyes fluttered behind his lids. A fiery red curl fell in front of Merida's face. Boromir's gaze immediately shifted upwards at the sound of a raspy breath. Despite no longer having a physical body, the sight of a gangly silhouette in the pale light of the full moon chilled him to the bone. Boromir knew exactly who - or, more accurately, *what* - it was. Most knew him - or it - as Gollum.

"They're thieves- they're thieves! They're filthy little thieves!" he heard the creature growl as it crawled predatorily down towards them. "Curse them, we hates them! It's ours it is - and we wants it!"

Gollum leapt down on Frodo and Merida. Both of them rose to their feet at lightning speed. Both grabbed their weapons to defend themselves. Boromir tried to grab the gangly creature, but it was remarkably fast even for a ghost. Merida shrieked as Gollum maniacally pulled at her hair and sent her tumbling to the ground. Frodo leapt on top of them in an attempt to free her.

The Ring fell out of his shirt, hanging down on its chain in full view for Gollum and Merida. The former's eyes widened obsessively at it as it swung like a golden pendulum. In the next second, the gangly thing lunged at Frodo's throat and sent him tumbling to the ground.

Gollum pinned him to the ground, his grimy, grey, long-fingered hands groping greedily for the Ring as it inched away from his grasp. Merida rushed towards them, grabbing the rope in Frodo's bag.

Suddenly, Gollum turned his head around wildly and saw her coming. He leapt at her and sent her tumbling to the ground. The gangly grey thing swiftly climbed until his limbs were securely wrapped around her neck, ready to throttle her in a chokehold.

Boromir was there in the blink of an eye, attempting to wrench him off her when all three of them heard the sound of a sword being drawn from its sheath.

"This is Sting. You've seen it before- haven't you, Gollum?"

Merida's heart began to pound as she peered up at Frodo, who now had Sting pointed right at Gollum's throat. His eyes bore into the gangly thing in a way that she'd never seen before - least to say, Gollum's current position wasn't an enviable one.

"Release her - or I'll cut your throat."

Gollum let out a pathetic moan and began to shriek. Boromir clasped his hand tightly around the creature's mouth, muffling his ugly tantrum as he wrenched him off Merida. Gollum tried to bite Boromir's hand to no avail. Frodo grabbed the rope and quickly fashioned a slip knot with a generous loop for the creature's head. Merida was still rubbing her neck from the assault as she watched Frodo slip it around Gollum's neck. Gollum thrashed out at him, but was held fast in Boromir's ghostly grip.

"I don't think that leash is going to be enough," Boromir said. "We should bind his hands and gag him - lest every orc in Mordor hear this racket!"

"Aye - I think I'm going to have to agree with Boromir," Merida stated.

She was quick to grab a rag and some spare shreds of the coat she used the other day carry out Boromir's suggestion.

Gollum screamed into his hand as a response. Merida was quick with her work as Boromir continued to hold him fast. After she was done, she took the rope around Gollum's neck and tied it to a nearby boulder, making sure he couldn't reach any blades or sharp rocks.

"Think that'll do it?"

"Aye, it should," Boromir replied. "I'll keep an eye on him. You should both rest. You've done enough for one night."

Merida nodded. She didn't even need to say "thank you,"; her face said it all for her before she fell back to sleep.

Frodo didn't fall asleep so easily. The sound of Gollum's muffled moans kept him up well into the night.


	16. Chapter XV: Gollum

Chapter XV: Gollum

Gollum's moans had been reduced to mere whimpers by the first morning light. Frodo hadn't fallen asleep until the wee hours and was now fast asleep. His slumber was undoubtedly induced by sheer fatigue.

As soon as Merida woke up, she began to pack up whatever she had out and prepared for the long journey ahead. Boromir had watched Gollum all night, though he wasn't in the least bit tired. The gangly thing had tried to get the Frodo and Merida's attention all night to no avail. Boromir had given him a deathly, fear-inspiring glare whenever he made so much as a twitch of his limbs that even remotely suggested the intent to escape or awaken his masters. Despite his ghostly state, Boromir was still quite able to hold a solid grip on the rope that hung around Gollum's neck.

Merida went over to Frodo with the intention of waking him up. She was about to gently shake his shoulder when she noticed his face, which was as still and serene as a statue. It'd been awhile since she'd seen him so peaceful. She could tell the Ring was increasingly tormenting him - perhaps sleep was one of his few escapes.

 _An escape..._

An insane idea popped into her head. She shook it out of her mind almost as soon as she thought of it.

 _No! I'm a princess trying to prove her quality, not a comfort woman!_

Her mind wandered back to when she'd tended to the scar on his shoulder and ended up rubbing his back.

 _I've indulged far too much already. Perhaps he's affecting me as much as the Ring is affecting him._

She shook his shoulder, finally mustering the courage to wake him. Frodo softly groaned as his eyes fluttered open. He slowly sat up, his blue eyes surveying the world around him.

"Are you all right, Frodo?" Boromir asked.

Frodo narrowed his eyes and studied him in fascination. Boromir looked as alive as ever, as though he had decided to accompany him all along and had never been shot by Orcs.

"Yes, I'm fine," Frodo responded as he began to pack his things.

"Well, that's good," Merida remarked. "We've got a long way ahead - especially with THAT thing." She instantly glared at Gollum, who was now whimpering pathetically as Boromir readied his makeshift leash.

Frodo looked on at the gangly creature, unsure of what to make of her remarks before joining the others in continuing the journey. It hadn't been more than twenty minutes later when Gollum began to shriek.

"NOOOOOOO! AAAAAAGGGHHHH! It burns! IT BURNS!"

Gollum writhed dramatically on the ground, halting the entire party with the spectacle.

"It freezes! IT FREEZES US TO DEATH! Nasty elves twisted it! AAAAAGGGH! GOLLUM! GOLLUM!"

Merida groaned in frustration.

*Can I shoot him now?!*

Apparently, Boromir felt the same way.

"We've got to find a way to silence him! Every orc in Mordor's going to hear this racket!"

"TAKE IT OFF US!" Gollum screeched.

"Why can't we just tie him up and leave him?" Merida asked.

"NO! That would kill us, KILL US!"

"It's no more than you deserve!" Boromir snapped.

Frodo's eyes softened slightly at the sight of the pitiful thing.

"Maybe he does deserve to die. Now that I see him... I do pity him."

Merida furrowed her brow as she watched the creature's reaction. Gollum suddenly had a seemingly innocent expression on his face as he shifted his gaze to Frodo.

"We'll be nice to them if they'll be nice to us," he said as he held out the rope to the Ring Bearer.

"Take it off us. We swear to do what you want- we swears...!"

"There's no promise you can make that I can trust."

"We swears to serve the master on the precious. We will swear on... the Precious! Gollum! Gollum!"

"The Ring is treacherous... but we'll hold you to your word."

"Yess... on the preciousss... On the preciousss..."

"You know the way into Mordor?"

"Yes."

"You've been there before?"

"Yes...!"

Frodo knelt and gently removed the rope from Gollum's neck.

"You will lead us to the Black Gate."

Boromir and Merida glowered at Gollum.

The gangly creature gulped as he stared up at them and scampered away towards Mordor. The three of them followed him into the growing night.

"To the gate, to the gate, to the gate Master says!"

...

The night had fallen a while ago. Legolas and Gimli were already fast asleep. Gandalf, however, was standing out at the edge of their encampment (if it even could be called that), staring out at the streak of red in the distant sky. Aragorn rose from his place and joined him. The sight of those two men piqued Fergus' interest, and so he remained awake and inched a bit closer, remaining in a seated position.

"The veiling shadow that glowers in the east takes shape," Gandalf remarked, apparently referring to the red cloud in the distance. "Sauron will suffer no rival. From the summit of Barad-dûr, his Eye watches ceaselessly. But he is not so mighty that he is above fear. Doubt ever gnaws at him."

Gandalf glanced at Aragorn, as though he were a proud father about to praise his son. "The rumor has reached him. The heir of Númenor still lives."

"Sauron fears you," the wizard continued. "He fears what you may become. And so he'll strike hard and fast against the world of men. He will use his puppet Saruman to destroy Rohan. War is coming. Rohan must defend itself, and therein lies our first challenge, for Rohan is weak and ready to fall."

Gandalf shook his head before continuing on. Fergus' heart was just about ready to sink into his boots as his thoughts turned to his old friend Théoden.

"The king's mind is enslaved; it's only a device of Saruman's. His hold over King Théoden is now very strong. Sauron and Saruman are tightening the noose. But for all their cunning, we have one advantage."

Gandalf and Aragorn glanced at one another.

"The Ring remains hidden."

Fergus' face was now akin to that of a dumbfounded deer.

*They know about the Ring?!*

Gandalf carried on.

"And that we should seek to destroy it has not yet entered their darkest dreams. And so the weapon of the enemy is moving towards Mordor in the hands of a hobbit. Each day brings it closer to the fires of Mount Doom. We must trust now in Frodo. Everything depends upon speed and the secrecy of his quest."

Aragorn looked down, suddenly pensive.

"Do not regret your decision to leave him. Frodo must finish task alone."

Aragorn sighed.

Fergus finally rose to his feet and approached them.

"He shouldn't be. My daughter and I went to Rivendell. We spoke to Lord Elrond, and she, of her own volition, offered herself to accompany him on the quest."

Gandalf turned to him, puzzled. Aragorn couldn't hide his surprise either.

"A daughter?" Gandalf asked. "You have a daughter?"

"Aye. Her name is Merida."

"Do you not fear for her?"

"I do," Fergus admitted. "Although she is far stronger and braver than most. I fear for her along with my wife and my wee lads back at home."

"What about you?" Fergus asked. "Do you not fear for Frodo?"

"I do," replied Aragorn. Gandalf glanced back at the red cloud in the distance, then returned his gaze to the two other men.

"As do I."


	17. Chapter XVI: Dead Faces

Chapter XVI: Dead Faces

Gollum scrambled through the jagged rocks like a squirrel up a tree. Frodo, Merida, and Boromir were right at at his heels. The next thing they knew, Mount Doom loomed in the distance as the dark, foreboding landmark that it was.

"See? See?!" Gollum suddenly bragged. "We've led you out! Hurry! Very lucky we find you, yes, precious!"

Merida furrowed her brow in confusion, then rolled her eyes. Boromir briefly smirked at her reaction before continuing on, as though they were two mischievous children sharing an inside joke about some mutually disliked schoolteacher. Merida gasped when her foot suddenly sunk into the ground.

"Agh! It's a bog! He's led us into a swamp!"

"A swamp, yes, yes. Come, master," the creature remarked, glancing at Frodo. "We will take you on safe paths through the mist. Come, come! We go quickly."

Frodo was the first to follow Gollum. Boromir and Merida reluctantly followed him as well. The latter pulled her foot out of the puddle, ignoring the sogginess of her boot and the muddied hem of her dress.

"I found it, I did - The way through the marshes," Gollum bragged. "Orcs don't use it. Orcs don't know it. They go round for miles and miles! Come quickly. Soft and quick as shadows we must be."

Frodo, Merida, and Boromir looked on. The dreary, blood-chilling expanse of swamp stretched as far as their eyes could see.

...

"I hate this place. It's too quiet. There's been no sight nor sound of a bird for two days," Merida griped as she and the others sat down to rest. These breaks were few and far between. She rationalized that this was probably for the better since it'd probably mean that they'd be out of here sooner.

"No, no birdses to eat," Gollum lamented. "No crunchable birdses. We are famished! Yes, famished we are, precious!"

Merida rolled her eyes at his comment as he glumly slurped a worm. It amazed her how pathetically dramatic the little imp could be.

"Here."

Frodo tossed the creature a piece of the lembas bread he was eating.

Gollum looked up at him with puppy eyes and grinned ear to ear.

"What does it eats? Is it tasty?"

It wasn't long before he loudly spat it out and coughed.

"It tries to chokes us! We can't eats hobbit food! We must staaaaarrrve!"

Merida groaned. She often referred to her three little brothers as wee devils, but compared to Gollum, they were more like little angels... with titled halos.

"Well, starve then. Good riddance," she muttered under her breath.

"Oh, cruel miss!" Gollum whined. "She does not care what we hears or if we be hungry. She does not care if we should die!"

Gollum suddenly looked at Frodo.

"Not like Master... Master cares... Master knows..."

Merida raised her eyebrows.

 _Master...?_

"Yes, precious. Once it takes hold... It never lets go."

Gollum reached for Frodo's chest, knowing instinctively where the Ring hung around his neck. Merida automatically threw her arm in front of the Ringbearer and glared at Gollum.

"Don't touch him!"

Gollum recoiled and gave a sulking glance back to Merida.

Frodo turned to her as soon as Gollum turned his back and went a bit of a distance, clutching the Ring.

"Thank you."

"It's nothing," she replied, concerned.

...

The four of them continued on shortly after their rest. Bursts of flame and murky ponds peppered the dreary landscape as they journeyed on. In fact... the flames looked eerily like will-o-the wisps.

Merida walked up to one of them.

She looked into the water and noticed the deathly pale faces in the water. She gulped, but couldn't pull away. Their eyes were closed. Some looked distinctly elvish, while others were garbed in Gondorian and Rohirric armor. A few hideous orcs dotted the morbid watery display.

"There are dead things - dead faces in the water!" Merida found herself stating in a panicked voice.

"All dead. All rotten," Gollum stated. "Elves and Men and Orcses. A great battle long ago... The Dead Marshes. Yes, yes, that is their name... Don't follow the lights."

Frodo's foot suddenly slipped into the water as he let out a loud gasp.

"Careful, now!" Gollum darkly warned. "Or you'll go down to join the Dead Ones... and light little candles of your own!"

Despite the creature's admonition, Frodo was staring into the face of a dead elven warrior, and Merida was suddenly lost in the details of another warrior - one who seemed to once have been a man of Gondor. The corpses' eyes suddenly opened, revealing soulless white orbs.

An invisible force pulled them into the water. Bubbles escaped from Merida's mouth as she tried to scream. Tendrils of ethereal hair and clothing mingled with her red tresses. Bony, wispy hands clawed and grabbed at Frodo's clothes and shoulders. His eyes widened in fear, reflecting the eerie, deathly glow of these spirits.

He glanced at Merida, his heart pounding. He swam towards her and wrapped his arms around her. If this is how they were going to die, then at least he'd be doing what he could to protect her.

Suddenly, the wraiths receded. The two of them watched in utter confusion as Boromir dove after them. They felt nothing as he passed through their bodies, fending off the malicious souls. They did however feel a pull of superhuman strength when he brought them out of the water.

The two of them coughed out the water in their lungs. As soon as he could speak, Frodo looked up at Boromir in awe.

"Boromir?"

The latter smirked.

"The Dead Marshes can't get to a man who's already dead."

"Don't follow the lights," Gollum repeated.

Boromir glanced almost ruefully at the gangly thing.

"You heard the little bastard."

...

It'd been only a few days since Gandalf had joined the company of Fergus, Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli. They were now riding at a good speed across the plains of Rohan, their eyes set on Edoras. They were now very close to their destination- so close, in fact, that they could see its very gates from a short distance.

Gandalf slowed and paused to look upon them. Aragorn, Fergus, Legolas, and Gimli soon followed suit.

"Edoras..." stated the wizard. "And the Golden Hall of Meduseld. There dwells Théoden, King of Rohan... whose mind is overthrown."

At his last four words, Fergus' heart and guts sank into his boots.

"Be careful what you say," Gandalf said. "Do not look for welcome here."

With that, they passed solemnly through the gates of Edoras. The city would have looked like a dream kingdom of horses and fields had a dark, mournful shadow not fallen upon it.

The faces of the people looked sad and sullen, as though they were in the midst of an intense mourning period. In a way, they were.

"You'll find more cheer in a graveyard," Gimli commented.

The four of them walked in silence until they reached the doors of the Golden Hall. Fergus felt as though something had turned his heart and stomach into two hefty iron balls locked in the cavity of his torso.

The doors opened with a loud creak, revealing a middle aged man in full Rohirric regalia with a long reddish dark blonde mane. His short matching beard framed his round face, his eyes dead set and serious. In spite of this situation, Gandalf still seemed to manage to muster a friendly greeting to the man and the guards that flanked him.

"I cannot allow you before Théoden King so armed, Gandalf Greyhame, by order of..."

The man trailed off, as though he found his next words hard to swallow.

"... Gríma Wormtongue."

Fergus' eyes widened with shock. Right now, he was panicking inside.

 _What's happened to you, Théoden?! WHO THE HELL IS GRÍMA WORMTONGUE?!_

As if on cue, Gandalf turned to him and the others and nodded reassuringly.

Aragorn was the first to give up his weapons to the surrounding guards, followed by Legolas, who gave up his arrows and daggers. Gimli reluctantly handed over his axes. Fergus followed suit with his own swords and other weaponry. However, he couldn't hide the cold, angry glare in his eyes as he handed it over to one of the guards, who promptly hurried back back to his post.

The captain glanced at Gandalf's staff, which was still in his hand.

"Your staff."

The wizard glanced at it, shifting his gaze back to the captain pitifully.

"Oh - you would not part an old man from his walking stick."

The captain glanced back into space, appearing to be caught in a mental rut. He eventually turned to lead them through the doors.

Gandalf looked over his shoulder and winked at the others. It barely did anything to calm Fergus' nerves, though he was glad that at least the wizard still had some control.

The hall had a dark shadow looming over it. A group of guards followed behind them. Fergus thought his gut couldn't drop any further until he finally saw King Théoden. He froze in his tracks.

The man he once knew was just just two breaths away from a corpse in his throne. His hair was white and thin, his eyes clouded and staring blankly into space. His face was lined with more wrinkles than Fergus thought was humanly possible. His robes looked like they hadn't been washed in ages. A pale man in black with greasy shoulder-length hair to match sat next to the hollow husk that was once the King of Rohan, like a vulture poised for a feast. This man was indeed none other than Gríma Wormtongue.

"My lord, Gandalf the Grey is coming," Gríma whispered in Théoden's ear. "He is a herald of woe."

Fergus' eyes narrowed straight at him, ready to break his neck. He probably would have had Gandalf not spoken next.

"The courtesy of your halls is somewhat lessened of late, Théoden King."

"He is not welcome," Gríma whispered again.

"Why... should I welcome you... Gandalf Stormcrow...?"

Théoden's voice was low and weary. His words lacked an ounce of conviction, as though he'd lost all will to speak or even breathe.

"A just question, my liege," Gríma commented. The pretense of him being some sort of advisor was disgusting. He rose from his place and addressed the five men before him.

"Late is the hour in which this conjurer chooses to appear," he arrogantly announced. "Lathspell I name him! Ill news is an ill guest!"

Gandalf shot back almost immediately.

"Be silent! Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth! I have not passed through fire and death to brandy crooked words with a witless worm."

The wizard drew out his gleaming white staff. Fergus grinned sadistically at the sudden panic that now plastered Gríma's face.

"His staff! I told you to take the wizard's staff!"

Suddenly, the other guards swarmed in around them. Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli were quick rush in and fight off the guards. Fergus' smile only widened as one of them charged towards him. He was quick to grab him and send him flying towards the wall.

"Théoden... Son of Thengel..." Gandalf addressed. "Too long have you sat in the Shadows."

Gríma tried to slip away like the snake he was when Gimli suddenly placed his foot squarely on his chest, looking him dead in the eye.

"I would stay still if I were you."

Fergus immediately stopped what he was doing and looked up at the hollow shell that was once the King of Rohan as Gandalf approached him.

"Harken to me!" The wizard commanded.

"Come on, Théoden!" Fergus suddenly blurted. "You were once my old friend - you saved me when my own men would've left me for dead! I know that old man sitting in that throne isn't the real you! Come! Rise up and show the world who you really are!"

"I release you," Gandalf pronounced, "from your spell."

The wizard closed his eyes and opened his palm, as though he were releasing a powerful magic from the palm of his hand - which he was.

It took Fergus all of the strength he could muster (and then some) to stomach the next sound he heard without falling to his knees- a bout of mocking laughter from the man he once knew as Théoden.

"You have no power here, Gandalf the _**Grey**_."

His clouded eyes suddenly shifted to Fergus.

"And you... How foolish are you, Fergus? To befriend your enemy? You should have stayed with your own kind! The world crumbles to greater powers because of stupid men like you!"

He laughed hysterically. Gandalf's gaze hardened with determination as he threw off his cloak, revealing gleaming white robes. Théoden's laughter immediately ceased when it blinded him.

"I will draw you, Saruman, as poison is drawn from a wound!"

Gandalf thrust forward his staff, which emitted a powerful force thrusting Théoden back and binding him to his throne.

A young woman in a white gown with long yellow hair rushed into the room as soon as she saw Théoden suffering. However, Aragorn was quick enough to throw an arm in front of her.

"Wait," he calmly commanded, almost reassuringly.

Fergus was on the verge of despair when the sudden change in Théoden's voice gave him a rude awakening. It was stronger, deeper - and definitely NOT his own.

"If I go... Théoden dies!"

Gandalf held his staff as though it were a spear and stepped closer to the fallen king.

"You did not kill me; you will not kill him!"

"Rohan is _**mine**_!"

The king jumped at Gandalf, who sent him back until he slammed against the back of his throne.

Fergus was stunned. In the blink of an eye, the strange voice within Théoden was gone. It seemed as though all of the energy was drained from him - so much so that he began to swoon and fell forward.

Aragorn released the woman, who rushed to catch King Théoden from falling to the ground.


	18. XVII: Living To Fight Another Day

Chapter XVII: Living to Fight Another Day

A stunning transformation took place as the young woman eased Théoden back into his throne. Years of age suddenly melted off the King's face and turned to nothingness, revealing the man that Fergus knew as the unlikely friend who saved him all of those years ago. The wiry grey mane and beard turned to thick, shorter golden yellow hair. A myriad of wrinkles vanished from his face as the color of life returned to his skin. He seemed to be scanning his surroundings, almost gasping for air. It was as though he did not believe where he was.

He first looked to the woman at his side.

"I know your face... Éowyn...!"

She grinned ear to ear, tears of joy filling her blue-grey eyes.

Théoden looked around the room, and instantly noticed the wizard standing before him.

"Gandalf...?"

The wizard's eyes were filled with a calm, triumphant mirth.

"Breathe the free air again, my friend."

Théoden looked around the room again and gasped when he noticed a tall, burly man with red hair that he hadn't seen in ages.

"Fergus?!"

Théoden rose from his throne and walked right in his direction. Fergus easily stood a few inches taller than him.

"It's been a while, old friend. You saved my life all those years ago. The least I could do is ride along and try to do the same. "

"Dark have been my dreams of late," Théoden remarked.

His gaze shifted to his hands. He wiggled his fingers and lifted his hands, stroking them as though they had not been moved in ages (which was indeed the case).

Gandalf looked at the newly revived King of Rohan as a proud smirk upturned one corner of his mouth.

"Your fingers would remember their strength better if they grasped your sword."

As if on cue, Hama, the captain, held out his old sword, its gilded golden handle pointed out and ready to return to the grasp of its owner.

Théoden grasped it carefully and slowly pulled it out of its sheath, reverently taking in every detail as he raised it as he hadn't done for so long. After feasting his eyes, he sharply shifted his gaze to Gríma, who was now trembling like the coward he was under Gimli's boot. The man who had essentially acted as the King's puppet master until moments ago shook his head vehemently as Théoden began to advance, as though trying to shake away a horrid nightmare. It did him no use, though. He made a spectacle of himself, kicking and screaming like a child throwing a tantrum as the guards dragged him out of the Golden Hall.

...

The guards were quick to throw Gríma out and send him tumbling down the stairs. Théoden kept a faltering but deliberate gait as he advanced towards the advisor who had dramatically fallen from grace. Gríma looked up at him as he made one last desperate plea:

"I've only... ever... served you, my lord!"

"Your witchcraft would have had me crawling on all fours like a beast!"

"Send me not from your side!"

Théoden did not heed his plea. He raised his sword above his head, ready to strike dead the man who had betrayed, manipulated, and reduced him to barely a husk of his former self.

Fergus couldn't help the vengeful smirk that suddenly appeared on his face.

 _The bastard's finally getting what he deserves._

Something - or, more accurately, someone- halted Théoden right in his tracks.

"No, my lord! Let him go. Enough blood has been spilled on his account."

Fergus looked on and shook his head as Aragorn offered Gríma his hand. Gríma spitefully spat on it and scrambled to his feet, running past and shoving everyone in his path.

"GET OUT OF MY WAY!"

He looked back at Théoden and the others before storming through the gates of Edoras, his eyes filled with vindictiveness.

"Hail, Théoden King!"

The people around him bowed reverently to the newly revived King, including Aragorn and his companions.

Théoden stared in awe, as though shocked that he ruled this place.

"Where is Théodred? Where is my son?"

...

Gollum scampered on amongst the rocks with Frodo, Merida, and Boromir hot on his heels.

Before they knew it, they were all approaching a great, ominous black gate wedged within the equally dark and foreboding rocks and mountains surrounding it, which could be seen from a very short distance.

Frodo, Merida, and Gollum quickly crouched down, making sure they wouldn't be seen by anyone from below. They watched the gates open for an army of men in exotic Eastern armor marching perfectly in line. The sound of metal pieces making contact with one another as they moved and the stomping of equally metallic boots created a dangerous tattoo that could quickly make one's blood run cold.

"The Black Gate of Mordor!" Gollum proclaimed. He immediately used his hands to shield his face.

Merida's eyes widened.

"Oh, save us..."

The words escaped her after that.

"Master says show him the way into Mordor, so good Smèagol does! Master says so."

Frodo was just as transfixed as Merida.

"I did..."

Boromir looked on as the grim scene before them as well. He was tempted to grin at himself, glad that he didn't need to hide himself due to his lack of a physical body. However, when he saw the hideous orcs patrolling at the top of the gate, he still had the sensation of his heart and stomach sinking into his boots.

He shifted to the level of Frodo and Merida, suddenly seeing a potential passage into the Black Land that would allow them to enter unnoticed. His heart immediately rose right back in its place.

"See that gate? It's opening!" he whispered to the two of them. "I can see a way that we can get in."

Merida noticed the same thing. An idea suddenly popped into her head as she began to wrap the fur of Mor'du around her shoulders.

"What are you doing?" Frodo whispered, his voice trembling.

"Getting ready to enter - AAAH!"

The rock she was resting on suddenly cracked under her, sending her tumbling down the hill.

"MERIDA!"

Frodo scrambled after her.

"Master!" Gollum screeched.

Both of their hearts pounded as the saw two men march towards them. Frodo frantically attempted to free her from the rubble that now trapped her legs to no avail. Seeing the men come closer, he quickly and protectively threw his cloak over them both. The two of them were now in such close proximity that his chest was pressed against Merida's ear. She could feel it heaving against her. His heart sounded like a loud drum beating mercilessly in the heat of a battle or a rally of the Dunland clans.

She could see two pairs of metal clad feet from beneath the hem of the cloak. Fortunately for both her and Frodo, all those men saw was a large but unimpressive rock in the midst of all the rubble.

One nodded his head and gestured towards the marching army ahead. The two of them turned away and returned to their posts. Once they were a safe distance away, Frodo threw off the cloak and helped her out of the rubble.

"I did not ask you to come with me, Merida."

She chuckled.

"Of course you didn't. I did so of my own volition."

A half smile ghosted across Frodo's face before he turned his attention back to the closing gates. They both prepared to run. Frodo had his eyes on the gates like a lion about to pounce.

"Now!"

They both leapt, ready to run for the rapidly closing gates when Gollum yanked Frodo back by his cloak, sending him tumbling backwards. Merida rapidly turned around, glaring at the gangly creature she'd grown to despise.

"NO!" Gollum exclaimed. "No! No, Master! They catch you! They catch you!"

"Don't take it to _**him**_!" the thing desperately pleaded. "He wants the precious! Always, he is looking for it - and the precious is wanting to go back to him! But we mustn't let him have it!"

Frodo kept his piercing blue eyes locked on the closing gates. He was ready to take off again when Gollum pulled him back.

"No! There's another way - more secret - a dark way!" Merida's glare intensified so much that she was sure it should have burned holes into Gollum's ugly grey skin.

"Why haven't you spoken of this before?!" Boromir demanded, grabbing the creature's neck.

"Because master did not ask!"

"Frodo," Merida said. "I don't know what Gollum's up to, but I don't trust him!"

"Are you saying there's another way to Mordor?" the Ringbearer inquired.

Boromir reluctantly let Gollum go. The gangly thing coughed and ran to Frodo like a frightened child to his mother.

"Yes... There's a path... and some stairs... and then... tunnel."

Gollum looked pleadingly upon Frodo, grasping his cloak while stroking his shoulder over it.

The taste of bile, although as ghostly as Boromir, tainted the back of Merida's throat.

Frodo made earnest eye contact with Boromir, then with Merida.

"He's led us this far... he's been true to his word."

Frodo's gaze was utterly disarming.

"Frodo... no..." Merida whispered.

He turned to Gollum.

"Lead the way, Sméagol."

"Good Sméagol always helps."

The creature took off. Frodo was the first to follow him. Boromir and Merida both looked on in disbelief before reluctantly following suit.


	19. Chapter XVIII: The Fate of the Children

**A/N: Finally, here's a surprise surrounding Friday the 13th that ISN'T necessarily bad luck! SURPRISE! I'm back! I don't know if any of you are still reading, but if you are, well, thanks for sticking around!**

 **And to those of you who just discovered this story... Welcome!**

Chapter XVIII: The Fate of The Children

Théodred, son of Théoden, was dead. His once handsome face was now little more than a pale mask of mortality. His once shining golden hair had dulled and darkened, as though to match those who mourned him. His still corpse had been dressed in his finest armor and was now lying on an elegant stretcher, ready to be buried with his fellow kin who had died honorable deaths. Six royal guards carried him out of the gates of Edoras, the path flanked with his former subjects, all dressed in black.

King Théoden led the guards to his son's open grave on foot, his grief apparent despite his majestic, solemn façade. Fergus was immediately behind them, followed by Aragorn, Gandalf, Legolas, and Gimli. A few scattered whimpers and sobs from the crowd could be heard in the quiet, still air.

Éowyn stood at the mouth of the open grave, directly in front of a huddled mass of weeping women. Her black veil blew about her in the breeze, despite her holding it down with her pale, graceful hands. As the guards slowly handed what remained of the Prince of Rohan to the women, who reverently laid him in his tomb, she began to sing a mournful farewell.

 _Bealocwealm hafað fréone frecan forth onsended_

 _Giedd sculon singan gléomenn sorgiende on Meduselde_

 _Thæt he ma no wære, his dryhtne dyrest_

 _And maga deorost Bealo..._

...

" _Simbelyne_. Ever has it grown on the tomb of my forebears. Now it shall cover the grave of my son."

Fergus stood beside his old friend, while Gandalf remained a couple feet behind them.

Théoden turned to Fergus, on the verge of tears.

"Tell me, old friend, do you have any children of your own?"

"Aye. A daughter and three wee lads."

"Has fate been kind to them in these evil times?"

"Not entirely."

"What has befallen them?"

"I left my wife and three sons home in Dunland.

My daughter..."

Fergus paused, uncomfortably wondering if he should tell Théoden about the mission she'd joined. For a moment, Gandalf looked at Fergus the same way a father would to a child on the verge of blurting something inappropriate.

"...she... ran off to fight in the war."

Théoden raised an eyebrow.

"The battlefield is no place for a maiden."

"I pray that they all meet better fates than Théodred," the king of Rohan continued solemnly. "though I don't trust to hope- especially if what you say about your daughter is true. It has forsaken these lands. Alas that these evil days should be ours. The young perish and the old linger. That I should live... to see the last days of my house."

The look on Gandalf's face softened dramatically - as did his voice.

"Théodred's death was not of your making."

Théoden's lip began to quiver, his voice breaking.

"No parent should have to bury their child."

He finally broke down, falling to his knees and sobbing.

Fergus took a few steps back and joined Gandalf, leaving Théoden to mourn in peace.

In the distance, the two men saw a horse wearily carrying two riders on its back. Soon, the horse stopped seemingly in the middle of nowhere. Suddenly, the rider in the front swooned and fell to the ground.

Gandalf rushed to them. Fergus followed at his heels and helped him bring them all into Edoras.

...

Saruman's long fingers, tipped with claw like nails, hovered over the fiery black Palantír. The wizard who had until recently possessed the mind of King Théoden was more than eager to make up for that setback in his conquest of Rohan. He'd all but had the wild men of Dunland wrapped around his finger. They'd raided and burned villages, swore their allegiance to him and had slain for him.

All that was left was the disgustingly stubborn royal family. He'd hoped that they'd be overthrown and done away with by now. Alas, they were not. The alliance between King Fergus and Théoden made his blood boil. The mere thought of it was enough to put a hideous scowl on his face.

All of this was just salt in a gaping wound. That gaping wound was the fact that Gandalf had just supplanted him as the White Wizard- and the leader of the Istari. He was the one who had driven him out of the mind of King Théoden. On top of that, he had been accompanied by the rumored heir of Númenor, along with the Elven prince of Mirkwood and the son of one of the dwarves who had set out to reclaim Erebor many years ago. If it weren't for them, Rohan would have been like a tender, frightened maiden ready to be taken in the heat of battle.

The virtue that eminated from Saruman's former friend made him so sick he could taste the bile building up in the back of his throat. He swallowed it back, his scowl only worsening.

He finally managed to summon the visions of what surrounded him from the orb beneath his hand. The men of Dunland were continuing to raid the villages near Edoras. Flames consumed the thatched houses. The screams of the villagers echoed about him, only to fade into the sound of sizzling and clanging metal. The vision had suddenly switched to the bowels of Mordor. Dark, filthy orcs and goblins worked to forge armor and weapons. The inside of the cave glowed red from the light of heated metal and flames. A slight smirk of approval graced his thin, severe face before he transitioned the vision off to the wretched royal family of Dunland. His grin quickly resumed the scowl from before as he watched Fergus and Théoden continue their alliance. He quickly switched to the castle that Fergus had abandoned, curious to see if he'd left anyone vulnerable at home.

He saw a woman with two brown braids that practically swept the floor, her green gown brushing the stony ground where the now mournful castle stood. A simple gold crown rested on her head, along with a noticeable streak of silver in one of her plaits. Her hand caressed the wall beside her, as though in lieu of her husband's face. Three little red-headed boys stopped in the middle of their games in order to look up at her, a look of innocent confusion in their eyes. Saruman chuckled.

"So, Fergus, you've left your wife and children behind while you frolic about in your misadventures?"

He grinned widely.

"A poor choice for a king whose subjects have turned against you. Perhaps your wife shall be wiser than you."

A flame of dark inspiration lit illuminated his mind. He knew exactly what to do now.

A tall, dark orc with a distorted face littered with scars and piercings suddenly entered the room.

Saruman's black eyes finally shifted to the creature.

"Go fetch me a horse."

...

Frodo and Merida were fast asleep, while Gollum was merely pretending to be - at least until the gaze of the intimidating phantom called Boromir seemed to shift elsewhere.

As soon as he thought so, the gangly thing used the cover of night to slip by, towards the shelter of a decrepit piece of stone ruin.

"We wants it... We needs it... We must have the precious!"

His expression changed as soon as he said that, his older alter ego emerging - but only for a moment.

"They stole it from us! Filthy thieves - Wicked! Tricksy! False!"

His face softened after the brief rant.

"No, not Master."

"Yes, Precious - False! They will cheat you, hurt you, lie!"

"Master's my friend."

"You don't have any friends - Nobody likes you!"

Smèagol placed his hands over his ears.

"I'm not listening! I'm not listening!"

"You're a liar - and a thief!" Gollum taunted.

"Murderer...!"

"Go away," Smèagol quietly remarked, halfway between a whine and a whisper.

"Go away?" Gollum let out a wicked laugh.

"I hate you. I hate you...!" Smèagol whined.

"Where would you be without me? *Gollum! Gollum!* I saved us," asserted the more aggressive half of the little grey imp bound to the Ring.

"It was me. We survived because of ME!"

"Not... anymore..."

"What?"

"Leave now... and never come back."

Gollum growled, baring his teeth like a hostile dog.

"Leave, now! And never come back!"

The exclamation was followed by silence. Surprisingly, neither Frodo nor Merida had even stirred - although Smèagol wouldn't have cared if they did.

"We-we told him to go away! And away he goes, precious! GONE! GONE! GONE! Smèagol is free!"

Smèagol spent the rest of the night in a clumsy celebratory dance.


End file.
